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IR WALTER OF KENT. 


BY 

JULIUS A. LEWIS, 
Author of a Prin^ of the Blood. 



I HISTORICAL NARRATIVE OF THE 
ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 



SIR WALTER OF KENT 


A TRUTHFUL HISTORY OF 
THREE CENTURIES AGO 


PHnted with the Consent of Sir Walter's Few Living Descendants 


SL ^ 




EDITED BY 

JULIUS A. LEWIS 

Author of "A Prince of the Blood." 





New York: Bonnell, Silver & Co. 
London, 4 Trafalgar Square « « « 
1902 




rl 








-A 






o 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
TwnCowet' Reo«iveo 

Wf.. n 1902 


^ CniJ'BIQHT ENTBV 

CLASS <licxo. No. 


^rr5 4> 

COPY 8, 


Copyright, 1902, 
BONNELL, SILVER & CO. 


c**« • 

• • • • 

• t • ♦ • ^ 

• 9 1 . 9 

• •• 9 • • 



# 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Of the Wynningtons 7 

II. First Impressions 16 

III. Sarah’s Eomance 25 

IV. Sir Philip’s Visitor 40 

V. The de Wycherlys 48 

VI. Merton Hospitality 63 

VII. Enchantment 69 

vril. The Guest at Hillgate 83 

IX. Recollections of St. Bartholomew 93 

X. One Small Maid 104 

XI. The Good Knight 119 

XII. Legacies 130 

XIII. Quimby Court 138 

XIV. Bid well Hall 153 

XV. London 168 

XVI. The Tower 183 

XVH. Elizabeth, the Queen ; 192 

XVHI. The Knight’s Home-Coming 207 

XIX. Gentlefolk ; 320 

XX. The Peasleys of Perling Manor 235 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI. Cross Seas 244 

XXII. Constance 254 

XXIII. Another Journey 2G7 

XXIV. Will Shakspeare 276 

XXV. Henry of Navarre 291 

XXVI. A Glad Surprise 300 

XXVII. Trying Years 311 

XXVIII. In Old Madrid 325 

XXIX. Happy Years 337 


THE EDITOE’S EXPLANATION. 


The Editor has taken no unnecessary liberties with the 
manuscript of this history. In some places where the 
meaning was obscure, by reason of the use of too much 
that was obsolete, he has found it advisable to introduce 
more modern terms. But at the same time it has been 
his endeavor to retain as much as possible of the writer’s 
quaintness of expression. The manuscript, read as it has 
been for two full centuries by the descendants of Sir 
Walter, and their friends, is in places dim from the great 
wearing which it has undergone. In its present condi- 
tion it could not well be examined by the public. But, 
to any fancier of archaical handwritings who should make 
suitable application, the Editor would be pleased to show 
the original pages. 

Oddly enough the idea of having the history printed 
did not occur to the descendants of Sir Walter until the 
commencement of the present Century. 

















SIE WALTER OF KENT. 


I. 

OF THE WYNNIHGTONS. 

I, Sir Walter Wynnington, Knight, of the County of 
Kent, begin this narration of my life’s history at Merton 
Hall, my ancestral seat, in the month of October, in the 
year of Our Lord Sixteen hundred and thirty-three, and 
in the reign of his gracious Majesty Charles. In more 
than one of the scenes or events, which it shall be my con- 
stant strife to describe with clearness no more than with 
truth, shall there figure persons of exalted rank. For be 
it said that it has fallen to my lot to stand uncovered in 
the presence of both her Majesty Elizabeth, and of Henry 
of Kavarre. And likewise have I beheld, and moreover 
had intercourse of friendly kind, with two men who were 
far from exalted, yet whom I did deem as truly great, and 
to whom Fame shall one day give lofty place. Of these 
twain, one was the sweet-tongued player-poet. Master Will 
Shakespeare. The other was a Spanish soldier, though 
were his deeds of might wrought by pen rather than by 
sword. Came I by chance upon him while starved he 
proudly in a garret of Madrid. And there sat I in awe 
and listened to the lofty words that fell from the lips of 
Miguel de Cervantes. 


7 


8 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Could I scarce name the object that incites me to this 
work, which even now doth take iar more the shape of 
sport than of toil. Mayhap there lurks within me some- 
what of the poet; and urged by feeble rays of what might 
once have been celestial fire, I seize upon the pen and 
deeds record. Of a surety it is from impulse rather than 
design that this page and its many fellows shall be filled. 
Fain would I have the scenes that I shall picture beheld 
in fancy by others. Yet would I not have this thing come 
to pass until I shall have rested long in yonder church- 
yard. Constance, who now sits nigh me in her easy chair, 
says that I shall read unto her every word which may in 
this history be writ. Will these pages he read by myself 
to her, yet to none others. For as I must needs, to make 
my story full and true, lay hare her heart and mine, I ask 
that a generation shall have passed ere this shall a second 
time he read. Yay, I would long spin out rather than 
contract the limit of the time. Not until there has been 
well begun Century the Eighteenth of our Lord, would I 
have this to see the light. It is my wish that, if before 
the period may he run God send not his Son upon the 
Eastern clouds to judge us of our deeds, my truthful tale 
shall he read by all who may have the wish to know the 
things whereof I shall a record make. When have I to 
Constance read them, these pages shall be sealed, and on 
the outside of the packet will I write my command that 
it be not opened till that time which I have named. Then 
let this act he done by him who is the elder of my name 
and blood. But if my house shall then have passed to 
dust, whoever hath the hook may break the seal. 

Albeit I could never find it in my heart to reproach any 
man for his lowly birth, or for that cause to hold him as 


OF THE WYNNINGTONS. 


9 


unworthy of a kindly grasp or word, and though for vain 
boasting have I small fondness, it gives to me a glow of 
pride to think that the Wynningtons were ever a gentle 
race. The first of our family to reach the shores of Eng- 
land came, when scarcely but a lad, in the train of Norman 
William. My sire of that day did tread the same timbers 
which bore the Conqueror across the waves to seize upon 
the mighty legacy of Edward the Confessor. When the 
ship grated upon England’s sands, and William leaped 
from ofi the bulwarks and strode to shore, Knight Wyn- 
nington was close upon his leader’s track. Our tradition 
hath it that as the Conqueror pushed on in eager haste 
his foot slipped, and his chosen followers beheld him 
sprawling upon the slimy sands. By this fall were splashed 
our sire’s cheek and cloak, yet did he then remark the 
ready wit by which the great Duke turned the mis- 
hap to his own vantage. Holding up his hands, filled as 
these were with dripping English soil, did William ex- 
claim : 

^^Thus do I take seisin of this land! By the Splendor 
of God, as far as it doth reach, is it mine.” Then glancing 
round to note the effect of this stroke upon his followers, 
he was minded that they looked to share in the mighty 
spoil, and he added: ‘“^Yes, it is mine — and yours.” 

Knight Wynnington hath handed down to us that the 
thing which did the most impress him, in all that day 
upon the field of Hastings, was the determined, relentless 
look on the grim face of the man of Conquest as he cried 
unto his archers: 

^^Shoot up your Norman arrows!” 

Though full sure I am that ’twould not so have been 
with me, our sire felt no pity for the o’erthrown King, 


10 


SIR WALTER OF KElfT. 


when he gazed upon brave Harold stark and cold. In 
course of time it came to pass that he who held these lands 
in Kent which now are mine in fee, a Saxon who minded 
not the blessings of the Korman rule, rested under 
imputation of conspiring gainst his rightful lords, and fled 
cross seas. Then it was that William was minded to re- 
ward a faithful follower ; and this small domain of Merton 
came into hands of the Wynningtons. The flrst of our 
house years later journeyed into Normandy, and found 
welcome at his monarch’s court. He was with his master 
when the stout-grown King rose in fury to his feet, and 
did swear, by the Splendor of God, that he would be 
avenged upon Philip of France for his jest upon him. Our 
sire would have followed his sovereign again unto the wars, 
but for the fatal act of chance that made Death the Con- 
queror’s master. Mayhap he then knew more of the 
splendor of God, and of his wrath as well. The faithful 
Wynnington grieved with bowed head, while they placed 
the regal clay beneath the marble in Caen. 

One of our house took up the Cross and followed 
glorious Eichard of the Lion Heart unto the distant 
battle-grounds of Palestine. At Acre did he gallop behind 
the Champion of England as sped that valiant prince 
across the field, while with resistless lance he swept his 
thousands to the earth. Of that warrior King did our 
Crusader say he marveled much at his prowess, his 
splendor, his magnanimity and his arrogance. A Wyn- 
nington did stand upon the hillside at Cressy, below the 
King, but far above the foremost rank where the Black 
Prince waited for the might of France. He oft had told 
in after years how he watched the glistening pageant, as 
moved along in swaying ranks the French. The nobles 


OF THE WYNNINGTONS. 


11 


clad in richness did ride beneath their shining banners as 
calmly as to a tourney field. And glanced they with the 
eyes of scorn up to the steel-lined hill, while dreamed they 
not that there destruction lurked. Oft did he tell how 
he beheld upon great Edward’s firm, commanding face 
gleams of joy and pride as looked he down upon the 
marvels which his war-like boy fast wrought. 

In the hitter struggles where two rival houses did strive 
each to prove by blood its claim unto the crown, the Wyn- 
ningtons wore the white rose of York. Two of them 
gave their lives for that cause. Sir Stephen Wynning- 
ton, my great-great grandsire went with Eichard upon the 
Field of Bosworth. He ever held the last York, usurper 
though he were, as one painted far more black than of a 
truth he was. Though called he the Hunchback cruel 
and murderous, where stood those he looked upon as foes 
within his path; yet did he deem the man as fitted well 
by nature for the great affairs of state. He did say that 
would the land have thrived full well neath the last York’s 
rule, could he but long have sat upon the throne. Sir 
Stephen told how on the morn that was his last. King 
Eichard threw himself upon the ground and long drank 
from out the spring, which even yet is called Dick’s well. 
Then rising to his feet he gazed across the field upon the 
hosts of Eichmond, and he said it mattered not whether 
he or yonder upstart gained the day, the blood of such as 
clung unto the cause that fell would fiow in every corner 
of the land. Yet was not this prophecy fulfilled. Mayhap 
it was a sop to make his doubtful throne secure, that 
Seventh Henry, as Eichmond had become, lopped not off 
the heads of rank which had upheld the cause of York. 
Had he but took revenge upon his one-time foes, the 


12 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Wynningtons would have passed unto the block, and 
strangers would have come into their inheritance. Though 
he did deem that King as more than clement, yet came 
it not to pass that Sir Stephen’s heart e’er warmed unto 
his master. Oft did our sire rail at the meanness of him 
who wore the crown. More times than one did Henry 
the Seventh on false plea of war-like rumors, or of sham 
needs of state, procure consent of Commons for a weighty 
tax upon his subjects. And would he then, with greed of 
miser, count the bright results of thin-veiled theft, and 
hide them in his strong vault. When paid he from his 
purse his gold and silver at the King’s behest. Sir 
Stephen did speak in secret some seditious thought. But 
did his son. Sir Thomas, in full course of time avenge 
his sire for these unjust levies of the tax. For Henry the 
Seventh having paid his great debt — mayhap he did look 
upon it as a tax — to nature, and Henry the Eighth having 
come upon the throne, Sir Thomas did in modest way aid 
and abet the youthful monarch to scatter wide the yellow 
coins, which had his father took, in gross extortion and on 
pretence false, from most unwilling hands. 

Our traditions have it that in his latter years Sir 
Thomas oft would dwell upon the oddness of his royal 
master’s thoughts and ways. He said so set the King was 
sure to he in all which did pertain unto the doctrines he 
loved, that to dispute him on the smallest point were to 
invoke grave danger. And unlike so many of the royal 
blood did he hold in high esteem the sacredness of mar- 
riage vows. Kor were he apt to do violence to those which 
he himself had taken on the altar steps, until he deemed 
himself absolved of such by action of the laws he called 


OF TEE WYNNINOTONS. 


13 


most just, and in the framing of the which his hand had 
done its share. And if the haste were such that to his 
loyal headsman he found need to look for aid, he brought 
the business to a proper end with true regard for Law, he 
having first in modest way made known unto his trembling 
Lords and Commoners the thing he wished. When last 
Sir Thomas went to Court right well was he received by 
him who had been his friend. The stout King Henry 
had but little while afore taken unto himself another wife. 
She was the fifth of all his consorts, and his second 
Catherine. His Majesty was joyous in his mood. He told 
our sire of his great happiness, and led him into the pres- 
ence of the Queen, who with gracious condescension re- 
ceived her guest, while her royal spouse gazed upon her 
with proud and beaming eyes. Sir Thomas told how he 
did mark the artful look of blushing consciousness with 
which Queen Kate in charming way made her soft replies 
unto his compliments. ^Twas meet that in her day of 
sunny hopes she dreamed not that there lurked behind her 
royal robe the shadow of the scaffold. 

The Wynningtons have been staunch Protestants ever 
since King Henry the Eighth, perceiving that the Papal 
power stood firm and strong twixt him and the ripe lips 
and fair form of sweet Ann Boleyn, swore that he would 
purge his realm of Pome’s errors. And in the years when 
Mary sat upon the throne my grandsire, brave Sir Hugh, 
gave up a tempting vantage that would have come through 
royal favor, rather than to turn him from the faith which 
his father had embraced. ’Twas said that he were even 
marked for punishment, that might have been no less than 
burning at the stake, had not then weak Mary went unto 


14 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


another world. Though Protestant I am, and trusting 
that all Wynningtons to come shall hold the doctrines that 
seem meet unto me, yet look I not with angry eyes upon 
the men who cling still to the ancient faith. Though 
there be many called Catholics, who have done foul and 
cruel wrongs unto the people of my own belief, yet would 
I not for this condemn all they who bow themselves to 
Eome. What thought the hordes which falsely wore the 
Cross upon the eve of good Bartholomew slew their thou- 
sands of the other creed? What though a band of wit- 
less men of zeal did here in England plot to blow into 
eternity our august reigning House with Lords and 
Commons ? They who do these acts must needs be guided 
on their way by lust for wrongful power, or by that wild 
excess of bigot thoughts, which alike doth rob them of 
their reason and of that human pity which their Master 
taught. Hor was there aught in all the teachings of their 
ancient faith that warrant gave for deeds revolting to the 
minds of honest men. And though I weigh the matter 
well, see I not why they who do avow themselves good 
Catholics, and they who cry with pride that they be 
Protestant, should arm gainst each other, and bring their 
doctrines for settlement upon the bloody field. Do not 
both worship give unto the same Trinity? Do not they 
both believe in the self-same atonement, and resurrection 
from the dead, and future state? Though each has 
fought, and may yet make war, I deem that they do this 
thing more as bodies of men that have taken to the field 
for some politic ends, than as true followers each of its 
chosen faith. Though some with long-drawn faces oft 
declare that I do wrong unto my kind by words of toler- 


OF THB WYmiFfQT0:N8. 


15 


ance, yet will I not do aught to bring about a strict en- 
forcement of laws whereof there is no need against the 
Catholics among my neighbors. I believe they do have 
the right to that belief which conscience hath convinced 
them of. To persecute a man for honest thought, I do 
deem as most unworthy of an English Knight. 


16 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


II. 

riKST IMPEESSIONS. 

When my father. Sir Philip, came into his inheritance 
upon the death of his sire, did he find the estates of 
Merton much encumbered. Por had Sir Hugh not only 
been greatly given to hospitality, hut likewise was he most 
generous unto the poor. As this did in course of time 
become noised abroad, some of his distant kinsmen in- 
duced him to relieve their wants. They did not of a 
truth demean themselves so much as to ask alms of my 
grandsire, yet when they came to make him their visits, 
he would ask them as had been his wont how each one 
did, how throve his health, and the healths of his family, 
and if were his house in good repair, or had he need of 
aught. And then would each tell his woes — of sickly 
wife, and many children to he clothed and fed, of leaking 
roofs and chimneys tottering to the fall. And when their 
kindly patron would unstring his purse, each with tears 
and protestations would say him nay. At length Sir 
Hugh, well nigh with force, would thrust upon them 
each a sum. Then calling in profusion down God’s bless- 
ings on his head they rode away. Nor came they again 
to Merton until their needs had grown to what these had 
been afore. And troubles did fall upon those of his 
tenants who had the art and roguery to practice on his 
kindly nature; and from these there came no rents for 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


17 


lands or dwellings. And once there went unto my grand- 
sire old Sir Jasper Townsend, whom had many held to he 
a miser. The old man did vow that all the tales about his 
wealth were false. In truth had he most pressing need of 
a sum. Sir Hugh craved pardon for having given ear to 
such idle rumor, and loaned his neighbor the full amount 
he wished, and without the Just security which was his 
due. And then within a year it came to pass that old Sir 
Jasper was found one pleasant morn quite dead beside 
his open strong-box, within the which were sacks filled 
with golden coins that Twould have been his Joy to count 
again, had not come so swift his time of final reckoning. 
When learned Sir Hugh of this he was wroth, and did he 
swear that for once had imposition been made upon his 
generosity. And as old Sir Jasper^s heir seemed some- 
what loathe to make Just restitution, my grandsire did 
avow that he would take process of the Law that he might 
have his own. Whereat the loan was paid from out the 
miser^s ample hoard. 

To restore the estates of Merton to that condition which 
it seemed meet to him, my father saw the. need of much 
frugality. Yet would he never suffer any to speak one Jot 
of mild reproach against his sire for having wasted sub- 
stance that did by right belong unto his house. Yet did 
not the desire to rid his fair estates of all the debt which 
weighed upon it lead Sir Philip, when came he to the 
business of choosing for Merton a mistress, to seek the 
dower that the bride might bring. More than one proud 
maid had by her gracious smiles cast out the hint that 
she would count it no disgrace to come from the altar as 
my Lady Wynnington. Of they were Mistress J oan Mow- 
bray, only daughter of old Squire Mowbray, v/ho as all the 
2 


18 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


County knew would have a portion of no less than five and 
thirty thousand guineas. Yet did my father pass her by 
and seek the hand of Lucy, the orphan kinswoman of old 
Sir Peter Bulkley, whose dower could scarce be more than 
half a thousand guineas. Gave she consent, yet not until 
he, against all seeming hope, had courted her for full a 
twelve-month. It might be that he would have valued 
in small way a prize, to win the which would have cost no 
labor save the breath of asking. Yet was fair Lucy, as 
they said in after days, of a most bewitching face and 
form, with charm of manner, yet coquettish in her way. 
And Squire Mowbray’s heiress was of face quite plain, with 
stout form which ’twas said partook of squareness rather 
than of curve. Whatever weight it was that being thrown 
into the balance sent up the guineas of the Mowbray 
dower, my sire had his choice, and did keep with it the 
encumherment of his estates. After two short years of 
happiness came a great grief unto Sir Philip. His Lucy 
passed unto the realms, where be it hoped the good wot 
not of the pangs that fill the souls of dear ones whom they 
leave behind. 

His much beloved wife had, a twelve-month ere she 
died, brought unto him a son and heir in the person of 
myself. The time of my birth, as written in the records 
of Merton parish was the eighth day of October in the year 
of our Lord fifteen hundred and seventy-five. In my 
early boyhood, as I wandered through the broad hallway 
of Merton, would I pause and look up in wondering way 
at the portrait which they told me was of my dead mother. 
Little did I comprehend what they had meant; nor was 
I conscious of one jot of that which might approach a 
sense of yearning towards her whose counterfeit upon the 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


19 


canvas seemed to calmly meet my gaze. I doubt if then 
I did even in vague way note the fact that she were pass- 
ing fair. It doth seem to me that boys — or at the least 
such as I have been — are somewhat like the cubs of lower 
beasts, since they are minded mostly to obtain full satis- 
faction of their own wants and whims, and have no inborn 
care for other’s needs. Comes later on that finer sense 
to teach us by the wounds which we ourselves do not 
escape, that it were far beneath us to inflict a wanton 
hurt upon the kindly feelings of our fellows. Then may 
we learn to comprehend the higher joys, and, alas, as well 
life’s bitter pangs. And in same kind, through cub-like 
blindness, did I not perceive the great loss that had befell 
me in my infant days, until at length my slow maturing 
mind had reached a higher plane, and entrance gave unto 
a gentle grief which had no need for tears. 

Sir Philip did in these early years of mine occupy him- 
self in the devising and carrying out of frugal schemes, 
by which the weight of debt upon our Merton was by slow 
degrees so lightened that he began to entertain some faint 
hope of handing down unto his heir a heritage freed from 
bonds of money-lender. And had this much to do, in my 
belief, toward turning him from brooding thoughts upon 
his great bereavement. I saw him little, save when he 
did ask for me, and I was sent to him either in the librar}^, 
where his few books ranged upon one broad shelf looked 
to my wondering eyes a vast collection, or else as he sat 
with his wine in the dining-hall. Do I recall the soft 
glow which were then on his thin cheeks, and the whiteness 
of his broad, thoughtful brow. Would he take me on his 
knee, and gently brush back my locks, and with kindly 
smile look into my eyes, though in my blindness saw I not 


20 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


the light of his paternal love. Then would he much ques- 
tion me of my doings, and would instruct me as to how I 
should comport me with respect unto my elders, how I 
should ever spare the feelings of the lowly, and how I 
should speak the truth. Then would he ask if since last 
I sat upon his knee I had failed to follow out these pre- 
cepts. And more than once did I, with consciousness of 
having done great wrong, stammer out a false reply in 
manner which to him was full confession of my guilt. 
Then would he urge me on till I made to him confession of 
the deed. At this he would in strong terms point out to 
me the sinfulness of lying. Yet if at first I frankly did 
admit that I had wrongly done, would he pat me upon the 
head, and tell me I was brave to speak the truth. And if 
my sins had proved to be of light and venial sort, would he 
give unto me a grave reproof. Yet if my misdeeds were 
of more weighty kind — had I not borne myself in seemly 
way toward my elders, had I spoke harsh and cruel things 
to they of humble sort, had I told rank untruth, or taken 
that to which I lacked just claim, or had some other wrong- 
ful act performed, would then my sire, with kindness in his 
look, though mingled much this was with firm resolve, 
administer unto his son chastisement mild. And this re- 
minder that transgressors^ ways are hard did seem most 
harsh to me but for the moment. So when at length my 
eyes were dried, and had the traces of the tears been 
washed from off my face, had I within my breast no 
thought of rancor toward the kindly hand which had some 
feeble buffets given me for mine own good. Firm am I 
yet in the belief that these same trouncings, which in my 
boyhood I did receive, were as a needed medicine unto me, 
and that the results were goodly in their kind. Though, 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


21 


^tis true I did refrain from the forbidden acts far more 
from fear of chastisement than from love of right, yet 
my sire’s lessons, thus brought home, left deep impres- 
sions that I often pondered on in wiser years. When it 
chanced that Sir Philip caused me to he sent to him in 
his library in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon, would he 
strive to impress on me some of the truths of our sacred 
religion. He bade me fear God, and obey as best I could 
his commandments. And, reverent soul that he was, he 
pictured out our Lord’s fair life among Earth’s people, 
and he did urge upon me to ever bear in mind that bright 
example. 

Having himself thus looked unto my moral welfare, and 
likewise having arranged with Parson Hayden of Merton 
parish to tutor me in worldly learning. Sir Philip did deem 
it meet and wise to leave the drudgery of caring for my 
daily wants to his housekeeper, Sarah Quick. She it was 
who saw that I was fed and clothed and tucked up snugly 
in my truckle-bed of winter nights. And likewise saw she 
to it that I was hunted out betimes of a morn, and scrub- 
bed and toweled to a proper state of cleanliness. As well 
she made it her rule that each day I had such number of 
scoldings as my defiance of her laws deserved, or as the 
needs of her oft-changing temper should demand. Was 
this Sarah the daughter of a yeoman of the better sort, 
who dying, bequeathed unto her a sum sujdicient for her 
wants, had she been minded to pass her days in idleness. 
Suitors did she once have in some number; yet she heeded 
them not, since were they but yeomen like to her father. 
For did she deem that having risen from her former state 
to the post of Keeper of the Keys of the Knight of Mer- 
ton, she had in certain measure reached the outer border 


22 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


of gentility. And hence might no yeoman cherish in his 
common breast the affronting thought of taking unto him- 
self her money. Yet since no Baron, Knight, Squire, nor 
man of Church, Medicine or Law, came courting her, must 
needs poor Mistress Quick remain a spinster. Tall was 
our Sarah, and somewhat raw of hone. Though well be- 
neath the age of forty years, as did the parish record full 
attest, her teeth were few. Kow while those teeth that 
did survive were minded to protrude themselves, was she 
from vanity not prone to show her defect unto the gazing 
world. Hence would she ever and anon fast close her 
mouth to hide the empty gums, while her remaining teeth 
incited to this act by nature, as often strove to see the 
light. Did this ne’er-ceasing struggle give to her lips a 
strange hut frequent motion that added not unto her 
charms. Oft in the morning when came she to see me 
cleansed and jacketed, would she wear a visage most morose 
and sour. Then all the suds within the Hall lacked power 
of making clean its much washed heir. And did it seem 
as if my collar might not ever learn to fix itself in proper 
way upon my jacket. Then would she sigh, and say: 

“In faith thou wilt make a pretty lord of Merton ! Art 
thou not shamed of thyself ? For have I known — or rather 
have I seen — the children of common yeomen that were 
neater and cleaner and fairer to look upon than the son of 
good Sir Philip, whom God save, and than whom there 
never lived a kinder or more noble Knight. Ko wonder 
that his face he grave and sad of aspect. He mourns that 
he doth have so much a sloven as his Walter for an heir.” 

And yet at even of another day would Sarah beam in 
kindly fashion upon me, as I would read to her from out 
a dog’s-eared book that was full many fathoms out beyond 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


23 


my youthful depth, and of which she failed, I would he 
sworn, to comprehend one jot. Yet plied she on her 
needle with her wonted skill till I had stumbled over many 
lengthy words, and at last in want mayhap of breath I 
paused, would she say; 

‘‘Thou readest well, my gracious hoy. How much wis- 
dom hath my Walter, and how he doth gain in grace and 
charm of look from day to day. When thou art grown, 
and come to man’s estate, and in honor take the place of 
good Sir Philip, whom God preserve us yet full many 
years, thou shalt give much credit unto Merton. Thou 
canst never know, my own beloved one, how much of love 
I do bear thee.” 

Then would she kiss me and gaze fondly into my face. 
And should it but chance that then my stomach were in 
the humor for her jams, or such confections as ’twas her 
pride to make and lock in closets with her jingling keys, 
I would make sure of speedy feast, not in truth by asking 
for the stuff, but by dropping hints that did serve as well. 
Would I in manner such as this speak unto her: 

“Good Sarah, was that jam of currants, which thou 
give to me but three night since, of the best e’er made in 
all of Kent. I vow there is none other who might make 
it as thou didst. Too bad it is the last of it be gone.” 

“Thou’rt wrong, dear Walter,” she then would make 
reply. “At least three other jars of that same jam have I 
in yonder closet, and shalt thou taste the thing again. 
Glad am I in my heart it suits thy fancy.” 

Then would she lead me to the place where she had 
hid in rare profusion the sweets for which I longed. Of 
these would I right quickly take my fill. And then with 
tastes of different things, which she would hand to me. 


24 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


meantime much dwelling on the merits of each one, and 
how ^twas brought unto perfection, would I still farther 
most unwisely stuff my poor self. But if a passing illness 
did come as speedy act of punishment for gluttony, would 
I accept the same in all good part ; nor made I any outcry, 
or called for medicines. And sometimes would it chance, 
on the day next following that which had been marked by 
such great kindness from good Mistress Quick, that her 
temper seemed intent to make amends for its brief laxity. 
And then upon me would she new reproaches heap. If 
aught I said in just extenuation, would she more angry 
wax; and if I made no manner of excuse, still would she 
rage the more. And if ^twould happen that her wrath 
did reach a certain pitch, would she with open hand give 
me rude buffets about the head. Or, should I keep me 
clear of her long arm, it might be that missiles of small 
size and weight were within her reach. At me then would 
such be hurled with swiftness, and of times with skilful 
aim. ^Twas now my anger in its turn was seen, and would 
I tell her in my simple words to the purport that she had 
exercised in rude excess that measure of authority which 
had been given unto her. And would I vow that I would 
go to Sir Philip, and in his ear name these great indignities 
which had been heaped upon his heir. Yet ere I had 
passed many steps with such intent, would come there in 
my mind the thought that vixen though this Sarah was, 
and would ever be, yet had she done me many kindly acts, 
and at odd times did love me much. Then I bethought 
me of the honey, deeply laid, of her smooth flattery. 
Though full appeared I surely would not be, yet went I 
not unto my sire. 


III. 


SARAH’S ROMANCE. 

My early tutor wore a look of wisdom, deep and most 
profound, whene’er there lay an opened book upon his lap. 
Yet Avas the groundwork of his knowledge of weak and un- 
substantial kind. In person was the Parson large and 
tall, with limbs of great strength. His face was full, hut 
were his eyes small and given much to shifting quick their 
glance. Proud was he indeed that he had come of ancient 
blood. In truth did he belong to the younger and the 
penniless branch of a house that had once been great. 
It seemed to some that he was by nature fitted more to 
be a soldier than a churchman, and that he might have 
thriven by arms. Yet though he did possess the outer 
equipments of a soldier, had I from knowledge of the 
man some doubt if there were within him that sort of 
courage which doth cause one to stand and firmly face a 
’proaching foe. But of a truth was his Avay and tone of 
Avar-like kind when spoke he aught of that which touched 
his ire. Nor was Master Hayden given much to reverence, 
for have I seen him in the chancel of Merton Church, read- 
ing the prayers vdth distant look, as if his mind were bent 
on other things. And likewise have I seen him at his dis- 
course, in the which he took but little pains, stumbling on 
Avith weary look, as if he would the business were at 
end. Like full many others had he entered the Church 

25 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


more from a love of ease and dignity than for the doing of 
God’s work. Did I not of truth thus weigh and sift the 
character of Parson Hayden till had I come to wiser years. 
While he did guide me tow^ard the outer gates of wisdom, 
held I the man in awe, albeit I as his scholar shrewWly 
guessed that strong though he looked to be, yet was he 
Aveak in many things. Though given was he not to put 
upon himself much of pother in his visits to the poor and 
lowdy of his flock, yet loved he dearly to sit at the boards 
of they of substance. Ho Squire had need to summon 
Master Hayden twice unto the same feast. And was he 
minded to have Knights oft press their hospitality on him. 
But should a Baron, or indeed an Earl, ask him to sit at 
meat within their halls, though he were only bidden to 
take a vacant seat, then were he fllled unto the full with 

joy- 

One even wdien might my age have been a dozen years, 
my father sent for me, and when I had come into his pres- 
ence, as sat he at his hoard with Parson Hayden for his 
guest, he had a chair put by his own and hade me sit. 
My tutor beamed on me with gracious smile, and spoke 
some pleasant things, whereof the meaning were but small. 
Then did I in secret make comparison betwixt his present 
way, and that in which it was his wont to greet me when 
he would come to set me at my tasks. The glow of good 
wine was now upon his face, which was by nature fair, 
and was he well to look upon, as in graceful way he sat 
toying with his glass from which he oft would sip. Did he 
listen with much show of respect unto Sir Philip, who told 
of the great thrift of a certain one of his tenants. And 
when at length there had been silence for a moment, my 
tutor put down his glass and began to inveigh gainst Borne, 


SARAWS ROMANCE. 


27 


saying she were filled with abominations — that her follow- 
ers loved the most to cut the throats of honest men. And 
went he on with reasonings of bigot kind, to all of which 
my sire harkened with patient look. And when had he 
come to end of all his discourse upon that head, did Master 
Hayden lean towards his host, and in way of confidence, 
and in lowered tone, he said: 

^‘Thy neighbor over West — I need not name him — 

Sir Philip did nod his head, as if to show he compre- 
hended who was meant, and said: 

^^And an honest Knight, I will he sworn.” 

^^But yet a Catholic,” went on the Parson, ^^and as such 
is he given by precept and habit to conspiracy and sedi- 
tion. Of him did our noble friend, the Baron de Wycher- 
ly, speak to me hut two days gone by. It were his wish 
that this Knight we know of, he closely watched — that 
the laws gainst himself and the fellows of his religion he 
put in force in all rigor so far as is he concerned. And 
moreover would the Baron have it that this man of Eome 
receive not even scant courtesy from his neighbor — that 
by none should he he sought — even that he he passed by 
in silence and contempt. May it please thee. Sir Philip, 
to know that our noble friend, whose interest may be of 
much service to thee, counts upon thy aid and counsel in 
this same matter.” 

And now had come a shadow on my sire’s face, and 
doubt I not that he would have spoken sharp words unto 
the Parson, hut that he was his guest; and furthermore 
had he for his cloth respect. Eepressing, no doubt, much 
warmth of thought, he calmly, yet with firmness, said : 

^^Kot till I do have full proof that he be rogue should 
I lend aid to persecution of any man. Shall I condemn 


28 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


all they of Rome, when full well I know there he many 
of that belief who live more pure and seemly lives than 
do I, whom God forgive for many breaches of his laws? 
So, when thou 'seest de Wycherly again, thou canst say to 
him that I have been by thee informed of the things that 
are to be done in this matter, and that I do deem it due to 
mine own honor that in these same I have no hand.” 

Whereat the Parson, filled with confusion and in stam- 
mering way, craved pardon if he had put the message of 
the Baron in unpleasing light. And while upon this he 
were yet intent, my father did pat me on the head, and 
lead me to the door. 

Was it not long thereafter when I did note that all our 
people began to make show of great excitement. Had 
some most anxious visages, while a few put on fierce looks. 
Yet my sire wore his wonted calmness of mien. Was my 
tutor of they whose minds seemed ill at ease. When at 
first convenient time I asked of him questions touching the 
cause of his and others^ worriment, did he explain that our 
land of England was threatened by grave dangers. He 
said that Philip the Second of Spain had set up claim to 
the crown worn by our good Elizabeth, upon the most 
baseless plea that it had come to him by right of marriage 
with Queen Mary, whom were we wont to term as Bloody. 
And was this cruel Romish prince fitting out a vast fleet 
and an army which would soon set sail for our shores. 
Should these Spaniards conquer the true English who op- 
posed them, would they destroy every one of the Protestant 
faith. When had I learned all this did I burn with zeal 
to join my elders in beating off the invaders; and then 
I asked of Master Hayden if he thought Sir Philip would 
permit me to go and by his side fight gainst the Spaniards. 


SARAWS ROMANCE. 


2d 


Did he give me full assurance that my sire would not listen 
for one moment to this thing. From day to day the talk 
of danger grew more and more; and then one even it came 
to my ears that Sir Philip had brought forth the armor 
of the Wynningtons, and had seen to the burnishing of 
portions of the same, which ^twas his avowed intent to 
use. The next morning came to me a servant who said 
that my sire had the wish to see me in his library. When 
I went in to him wore our Knight a bright breast-plate, 
and hung at his side a sword, ancient of design. Did he 
place his hand upon my shoulder, and say : 

Walter, I go forth to fight the enemies of England; 
and if it should chance I come not back to Merton, do thou 
remember all of my teachings and precepts. Obey such 
guardian as shall then be placed over thee, until thou 
shalt come of age. And in thy youth and manhood con- 
duct thyself as one full mindful of the honor of his ancient 
race.” 

Then giving me blessings and embrace did he leave, and 
mounting his black hunter rode with many from our part 
of Kent toward the great camp of England’s defenders. 
That day came the Parson from his own poor dwelling to 
tarry at Merton Hall while its master were away. Was 
he ever on the lookout for tidings, and would he with long 
face bring to Mistress Quick and his pupil wild rumors 
that the fierce men from the Armada, boasted as Invinci- 
ble, were already on our soil, dealing forth death and de- 
struction. Again would he come with hopeful mien and 
say ’twere rumored that the Spaniards were driven back. 
At last did he one night bring to us with most joyful face 
true tidings that the Armada was scattered to the winds. 
And were it with much rejoicings that we welcomed back 


80 


SIB WALTER OF KENT, 


Sir Philip, with his sword yet nnclrawn. Then went we 
all to Merton Chnrch, and gave thanks to God for this 
deliverance from the perils of the enemy. 

^Twas abont this time I first began to note that a change 
had come o’er Mistress Quick. Astonished was I to perceive 
that there had crept into her temper an odd softness. 
’Tis true that would she still of times rail at me, yet would 
there be a vast deal less of sharpness at her tongue’s end. 
Nor hurled she at my head so much as one small missile of 
all the things which lay convenient to her hand. And did 
she dress with far more of neatness and of nicety than of 
old. Eibbons wore she in profusion; and her hair, which 
had been wont to descend again within an hour of the time 
she put it up, now did hold its rightful place, and had a 
smoothness that seemed passing strange to me. And more 
than once caught I the spinster standing before a mirror 
and making strange grimaces at herself. Once, when 
knew she not that I was watching her, she walked across 
the floor with mincing gait and placed herself in strange, 
fantastic postures, and the while would murmur in 
affected way, hut in a key so low I caught them not, words 
that seemed to cause her great delight. Then would she 
laugh softly; and I noted that in one hand she held a fan, 
while in the other was a kerchief. These did she flourish, 
now about her head, and anon at arm’s length. I feared 
me that poor Sarah had lost her wits, and weighing not the 
many trials that befell me through her perverse temper, I 
grieved at thought that she perhaps were lost henceforth 
to Merton. One day when had come my tutor for our 
lessons, and was passing toward our study-room, I saw 
Sarah approach and cross his path. Then did she simper, 
and glance at him in coy way from neath her drooping 


SARAWS ROMANCE. 


31 


lashes, the while striving much to overcome the moving 
habit of her lips, and hold the same in rest. And as she 
passed along did she turn her head and glance archly cross 
her shoulder at the Parson, who seemed amazed at her 
strange hearing. And when she had passed from sight, he 
with shrng of shoulder, and yet with look of satisfaction 
in his face, asked of me : 

^^Has she been long took thns with malady of mind?’^ 

^Tor some weeks past, I made reply, ^Tias she been 
somewhat strange of speech and manner. And fear I she 
may not return unto her wonted ways.^^ 

This same prospect seemed no cause of worriment to 
Master Hayden, for more than once while were we at the 
lesson, did he smile with look of much amusement, yet not 
in the way it was his wont to lightly take my blunders. 
When it came Sunday morning, I beheld poor Mistress 
Quick decked in her finest gown, and much beribboned 
and gewgawed, as if she were a beauty of an age beneath 
one score. Made she her way toward Merton Church, and 
entered there with many bounces that smacked far more 
of worldly pride than of humility and Christian grace. 
When the Parson reached the chancel, the first sight that 
seemed to catch his eye was Sarah. Then he quickly 
turned his glance another way, and for some moments did 
he seem hard to strive that he might keep straight counte- 
nance. Yet the look of satisfaction stole more than once 
into his face while read he the prayers. And Sarah took 
not her eyes from off him once until he, having spoke the 
benediction, had left the chancel. Then did she rise; 
and in same bouncing way she departed from the place, 
while at her gazed the other worshipers with wonder, 
albeit with broad smiles. That same even as I sat with 


32 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


Sarah she seemed most kind toward me, and much dis- 
posed in truth to gain my favor. At length when she 
had stuffed me with her sweetmeats and cakes, she caused 
me to sit close by her, and glancing round, as if to full 
assure herself that none of the servants were within the 
hearing, she said in whisper, yet in much excited way: 

‘^Dear Walter, dost thou know that of late there has 
come something o’er thy tutor?” I looked at her with 
much surprise, yet speaking not. Then she went on: 

“Sure am I that good Master Hayden hath learned to 
look upon me with the eyes of favor. And, that I have 
received his glance with somewhat of graciousness, hath 
caused, I do believe, to him much joy. Hast thou not 
marked all this, dear Walter?” 

With much of frankness did I explain that I had seen 
naught which might bear out what she had said. At this 
she looked at me with eyes that seemed to plead that I 
might remember such as had she great desire I should bear 
witness to. And then of a sudden into my mind there 
came the thought that ’twas from love of Parson Hayden, 
and not from madness, she had in such strange way of late 
comported her. And this same knowledge brought to me 
somewhat of relief, and I smiled. She seeing this, did no 
doubt assure herself that I had come to her way of thought 
in this matter. 

“How see I,” cried she, “thou dost recall that of which 
I spoke — is’t not so?” 

“Hay,” said I with firm shake of head. “Hot yet have 
I beheld my tutor so much as once give to thee a look that 
he might not give any woman, or for the matter, any man 
as well.” 


SAEAB’S BOMANCE. 


s;? 

^^Then hast thou no eyes!” said she with angry glance, 
yet in an instant coming hack to friendly tone. And went 
she on thus: ‘^But art thou young, dear Walter, far too 
young to note such things. Yet have I said naught except 
the truth. And, dear Master Hayden^ is he not a person 
of goodly hearing and appearance ?” 

^^Yea, Sarah, he is well to look upon; yet must you 
remember he hath come of great family.” 

'^Yet is he not poor?” she did demand with some sharp- 
ness in her tone. 

^‘He is that, in truth I” said I. 

Then I bethought me of the slender tithes of Merton 
parish, and as well of its clergy’s liking to sit among the 
folk of quality. For might not proud Master Hayden have 
full contentment nor be at his ease, if by him at the board 
of great de Wycherly were Sarah, with her restless lips 
and most fantastic strivings after grace. 

‘^Yet,” did she urge, am I far from the low state of 
poverty. Though may my people in times remote have 
been poor yeomen; yet living, as I have, the respected 
housekeeper of Merton Hall, have I been raised almost 
unto the plane of gentle folk? Would not he see the 
matter thus, dear Walter?” 

^^Were he, Sarah, like so many of his cloth, of birth 
below the gentle rank, thou mightest have hope; for par- 
sons more than once have wedded ladies’ maids.” 

At this did she toss high her head with much show of 
pride and say : 

“And how far stand I above a lady’s maid, who may not 
have, save her clothes, the worth of one coin of gold. For, 
Walter, have I what might be called a fortune.” And then 
3 


34 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


she named a sum that did even cause surprise to me, who 
long had known she was possessed of much. “Dost thou 
not think that dear Master Hayden would well weigh my 
guineas in his mind?^^ 

“Yet, Sarah, how shall he know that you have this sum ? 
^Twould surely not he modest to name the matter to him.” 

“Indeed, ^twould not be seemly of me so to do ; yet, dear 
Walter, thou cans’t say the thing to him. And wilt thou 
not do this for me ?” 

When I said that I would act as had she asked of me, 
she seized my hand with eager grasp, and well nigh in tears 
she begged me that I would go farther, and let the tutor 
know that he had the happiness to be beloved of my 
father’s housekeeper. Was she full sure that I need but 
make small mention of this truth and he in eagerness 
would take the hint. So hard did Sarah in mad infatua- 
tion plead unto me, and with such labor did she throw 
aside the objections with the which strove I to block the 
path she was resolved to tread, that I at last yielded. And 
when I gave her promise that I would approach her be- 
loved one in way she desired, she kissed me much and 
called down blessings upon my head. 

Next day when came my tutor, I recalled how, by neglect 
through love of idleness or play, my lessons were un- 
learned. And deemed I this time most fitting for attend- 
ing to the business with which Sarah had entrusted me. 
So, as I were asked some thing touching the tenses of a 
certain verb did I make change of subject by saying: 

“Sir, have I been charged to make known to thee, by 
means of hints given in all delicacy, that Mistress Sarah 
Quick loves thee to point of madness, and is of firm belief 
that you as well do love her. And likewise is she most 


8ARAWS ROMANCE. 


35 


certain that yon will act quickly upon the strength of what 
I tell thee.”* 

Then I named to him the sum of which the woman had 
declared herself to he possessed. He had at first harkened 
unto me in much wonder, and with his face suffused with 
sudden flush. But when I told to him, the number of her 
guineas, I did note that there came into his eyes, for hut 
an instant, a cold twinkle. Having fulfilled, as I deemed 
in most proper way, the trust imposed upon me, I made 
excuses to my tutor for having spoken thus, which had 
I done in answer to much entreaty. He said that I had 
acted well, but that it would he out of all reason for him 
to consider the matter. Then with much show of pride he 
went on to say : 

^‘My birth, my position, and my noble friends, who by 
their firesides and at their boards do delight to welcome 
me, would join in forbidding the step, albeit such might 
bring to me some little wealth.” 

^^Yet, sir,” I went on, ^^you will find Sarah of most 
persistent kind, and not easy to be swerved from her set 
purpose.” 

After much time spent in seeming reflection within, and 
outwardly in biting of thumb, did he say to me that he 
would speak with Sarah, and strive to reason her out of 
her false hopes. So much time did he devote unto this 
weighty matter, that when he spoke to me once more as 
to the verb I were able to again foil him by modest hint 
that the time were late. Whereat did he nod his head and 
say that I had spoken well. Seized he his hat, and was 
making toward the door, when gave I to him reminder that, 
since he would see and reason with Sarah, the hour were 
fit, for I doubted not she were that same moment waiting 


36 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


in expectation of him. But with shrng of shoulder and 
with look which bespoke some sense of dread, did he make 
intimation that ^twere his wish to put oft the meeting 
with his charmer for yet another day. Scarce had he left 
the hall, when Sarah came and pounced upon me, as had I 
seen Tabby do on many a frightened mouse. As she de- 
manded of me whether I had given to the swain her gentle 
hint, she did hold me fast. And when I had made reply 
that I had truly poured into his ear the tidings that she 
loved him much, she let me go. Yet though I made haste 
in hope of getting off, she swiftly came upon me, and hold- 
ing me again in tight embrace, she asked when was it 
he had vowed he’d come to her. When I told her that 
’twas my belief he would approach her on the morrow 
after lesson-time, she gave me kisses and released her hold 
upon my arms. But again did I make failure of attempt 
to place a door betwixt us, for pounced she on me as before, 
and bade me tell her that I was full sure, from joyful look 
upon his countenance, that he had no thought or wish to 
throw away his chance of happiness. At this I put on 
stubborn look and declared that I could say no more, save 
that since I had performed, as best it lay within my power, 
the mission which had been thus imposed on me, ’twas 
just that I should he free to go my way. When found she 
that I could he made to speak no further of the matter, 
she fain would he content with that I had already said, 
and gave to me my freedom. 

Next day, while did my tutor hear me as I stumbled 
through a slow recital of my lesson, he seemed intent on 
other matters than our task. When came this same to 
end he sighed, and said that since he must needs have 
speech with good Mistress Quick ’twere well to have the 


SARAW8 ROMANCE. 


37 


business through at once. And so he bade me seek her, 
and send her to him. I had no need to search for her far, 
for stood she at her door in trim attire, and showing much 
of agitation in her manner. With a hand upon her breast, 
as if to overcome the wildness of her heart, she made her 
way toward the lesson-room. ^Twas full two hours there- 
after when I beheld the Parson leave the Hall, with lighter 
step than at his coming. Had I no wish to meet poor 
Sarah now, since I did deem her to be weighed down with 
the grief which she had brought upon herself. Nor did 
I see her till the even, when went I to the room sacred 
to her by virtue of her office of housekeeper. Was she 
seated in disconsolate way, with marks of tears about 
her swollen eyes. As she perceived me, there came an 
outburst of sobs; and when subsided these, she said: 

‘^Dear Walter, have I this day known both joy and 
wretchedness of spirit; for kind Master Hayden doth love 
me — he doth indeed. Yet, alas, may he not wed me. I 
will tell thee why, Walter, if thou canst but keep thine 
own counsel of the matter. He has most unwisely con- 
tracted in secret a marriage; and is his wife yet living. 
And I must fear me there is little like that she, who holds 
the place that should be mine, will soon pass away. No 
longer have I the heart to serve thy noble father in the 
place I did so long fill well. I shall take my broken heart 
unto the home of my dead sister’s son, who dwells in 
Sussex. There will I end my most unhappy days.” 

And when came the month to end, did Sarah take a last 
farewell of Merton, thanking with many tears Sir Philip 
for his kindness, and saying that she would in memory 
cherish me as if had I in truth been her own son. Parson 
Hayden rode with her on the first stage of her journey, 


38 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


he having then occasion to attend upon some man of rank 
who dwelt within a mile of where she would make halt. 
Had we missed Sarah Quick not half a month, v/hen the 
Parson said he must needs have a holiday ; and for this pur- 
pose he journeyed to London. And there the good man 
did see fit to tarry a full month, while I as well had rest 
from studies. When came back my tutor, he wore upon 
his back cloth of great richness. Likewise had he new 
ornaments of gold ; and on his finger was a ring of spark- 
ling diamonds. All this, he said, came from a distant 
relative, who for a reason, wished that as donor he should 
not appear. Though to my boyish eyes the tale were 
truth, in wiser years I weighed it, as did I some other 
things of this odd romance which had I then in way me- 
chanical observed. Had he but lied unto poor Mistress 
Quick about his pretended wife that he might soften her 
wounds of heart Twould have been well enough. Yet, in 
that he did take advantage of her unwise passion for him- 
self to obtain from her the means of making thus a brave 
show, I deemed his conduct as bringing shame upon his 
cloth as well as on his birth. Nor did Master Hayden 
come off scot free from all retribution for this sin. For 
oft there came from Sussex messengers, who would fain 
see the Parson; and I doubt not that these had been 
charged by the unhappy spinster to deliver unto him vows 
of her love that might not ever die. At times they brought 
him offerings of choice fruits, or fish, or game, and in the 
winter some knitted things which she had made with her 
own hands to protect against cold his ears and fingers. 
And did I gather that, in her haste to despatch these 
tokens with her messages of love, she had failed to provide 
the bearers with sufficient means for sustenance by the 


8ARAWS ROMANCE. 


39 


way; and so was her victim forced, from his own purse, to 
make amends for her neglect. And more than once it 
chanced that he received from Sarah a letter, which was 
snrely written for her by some other hand — for never 
could she boast command of pen. I doubt not that in 
these she spoke of love, and asked if his pretended wife 
were yet alive. And cursed my tutor in a way profane 
when he would break the seal and read the lines. Mayhap 
he was displeased at thought that the one who did write 
the letter for her, knew of things which by spread of gos- 
sip might yet reach the ears of they by whose favor he set 
such store. 


40 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


IV. 

SIR PHILIP’S VISITOR. 

She who wore the keys of Merton Hall suspended from 
her girdle, after had come the reign of Mistress Quick to 
end, was Jane Edmunds, a widow who was full ten years 
older than my female tyrant, but was most pleasant in 
her disposition. When first she came, and showed me 
much respect, and would ask if the young master would 
have this or that, I did fancy that her way of treatment 
would in course of nature change at times, as had the 
other woman’s. I looked to he reviled full oft for my 
shortcomings; and when weeks had passed while still she 
gave me kindly words and compliments, I were at loss to 
comprehend how this might he. And yet withal would 
she not humor me with surfeit of the sweet things she 
kept locked on closet shelves; hut in this as in all things 
she did counsel moderation. 

’Twas about the time of Mistress Edmunds’ coming to 
the Hall that I first saw her who once had been the heiress 
of Squire Mowbray, and who, when disappointed in her 
desire of wiping off the debts of Merton, had brought her 
portion to Sir George Merryweather. That Knight had, 
after nigh to a dozen years of bickerings, left her child- 
less. He had in this time wasted all of his own substance 
as well as hers. And so came it to pass that she was asked 
to dwell with her niece, Lady Clayton, at Clayton Hall, 


SIR PHILIP’S VISITOR. 


41 


albeit not to the pleasure of grim Sir George Clayton, 
who scarce ever showed himself unto his neighbors. Could 
Clayton Hall be seen from a certain hill which I was 
wont to climb ? One summer’s day did I ride far upon the 
back of Dick, the single work-horse at the Hall, my father 
keeping the black hunter for his own use, though I never 
knew him upon the fleet animal to follow hounds. When 
nigh to Clayton came there a thirst upon me, and I had 
remembrance of a certain spring within the gates, and 
some hundred yards aside from the avenue of trees that 
led up to the Hall. Sliding down from the back of Dick, 
whom I left to graze at his own will along the wayside, I 
hurried to the spring, where stooping down I took a long 
and pleasant draught. As to my feet I rose beheld I 
approaching from the avenue a lady. I would have made 
a swift return to Dick, but that I saw she did mend her 
pace as if she would have speech with me. And so I 
waited until she were nigh, when with uncovered head I 
bowed to her. Her figure, which was broad, was of pecu- 
liar squareness, and had she a face of much plainness, 
with hair that had begun to whiten. She smiled on me in 
much affected way, and said : 

“Thou art young Master Wynnington of Merton, I do 
believe.” 

“May it please thee, madam,” I made reply with low 
bow, H am indeed Sir Philip’s son.” 

“I knew it from the resemblance to your sire, whom I 
had acquaintance with in happier days. Kiss me, my 
boy.” 

Though unto this same thing I took not kindly, as did 
her face invite not like to her words, yet I now deemed 
it my full duty to yield to her request. So with blushes. 


42 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


but I fear me with somewhat of an air of aversion, I softly 
touched her cheek with my lips. 

“Nay, my hoy,” did she now exclaim, “thou lack’st in 
fervor.” Then taking my head between her hands she 
caused me to kiss her full upon the lips. “That is more 
like it ! What is thy Christian name ?” 

“Walter, madam,” I made reply. 

“Well, dear Walter, I am Lady Merryweather. Tell thy 
father that I would gladly see him — that he is sure of 
much welcome from all they of Clayton Hall. Kiss me.” 

Again did I with blushes touch my lips to hers, but 
wishing much meanwhile that I had elsewhere gone to 
slake my thirst. 

“And we shall indeed be glad, dear Walter,” went she 
on, “to have thee come often unto Clayton. Thou wilt 
find such books as I do vow thou hadst never yet beheld. 
And will I give to thee of cakes and sweetmeats thy fill. 
Kiss me.” 

This time, as I obeyed what seemed to me her most 
tyrannical command, there was, I do believe, a most un- 
happy look upon my face. She glanced at me with some- 
what of surprise, and said as if she were speaking but to 
herself : 

“Why, I will be bound he doth not love to kiss me. 
Strange boy, indeed! Yet do I like him, for hath he so 
great resemblance to his sire.” Then placing her hand 
upon my shoulder : “Thou wilt come up to the Hall now, 
Walter, and see Lady Clayton.” 

“May it please thee, madam,” spoke I with shake of 
head, “I should already be at home.” 

“Yet thou wilt come up for a little while, if only for 


SIR PHILIPS VISITOR. 


43 


sufficient time to taste some sweetmeats, and a sugared 
cake I made myself this very morn.” 

‘^May it please thee, madam,” said I, with blushes that 
this time came from thought that I were saying what 
were far from truth, ^^should I delay another moment I 
will be thrashed most soundly for the same.” 

“Yet at least, dear Walter, thou wilt come some other 
day ?” 

“If it please thee, madam, I will so do,” I stammered, 
with a yet more crimson gloAV, for was I then in secret 
making solemn vow that I should not keep the promise. 

“And what day shall I look for thee to come to me? 
Nay, I do see thou canst not name with much of surety 
when ^twill be. Well, let it be the first — ^the very first 
that shall be convenient for thee. Kiss me.” 

In fit of desperation did I now give my Lady a sounding 
smack upon the lips. Then bowing low, with much of 
briskness turned I on heel, and leaving her no doubt in 
great amaze, I ran swiftly from her presence, fearing 
meanwhile that she might call after me to return to her. 
When had I in safety passed the gates, and had found old 
Dick, I vaulted on his back. Then digging heels into his 
ribs, and with’ one hand, on the reins, while with the other 
tugging wildly at his mane, I urged him to unwonted 
speed. Yet did I not, until the boundary of Merton had 
been passed, look on myself as safe. 

Some days passed ere I found it convenient to tell Sir 
Philip that Lady Merryweather would have him come to 
her at Clayton Hall. Did I not deem it well to further 
mention that I likewise had received urgent request of 
the same kind, lest my sire, if it pleased him to go unto 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


44 

her, should give me command to bear him company. After 
he had paid heed to my words and had given to the same 
the weight of some reflection, he smiled in an odd way, 
hut said naught to me. 

Went not my sire to Clayton Hall to see the Lady 
Merrj^weather, yet on the eight day came she to Merton. 
It was some few hours past the noon, and I was free, it 
being one of the times when had the Parson ridden fortli 
in order that he might have pleasure of meeting some 
one of rank, who had been pleased to show him gracious- 
ness. I stood beneath a small chestnut tree that had been 
given chance to grow uj)on the lawn, and did sport with a 
frisky pup which had within the week been brought by 
an old tenant to the Hall. My sire sat in his large chair 
upon the porch, just without the open windows of his 
library, and well within the shade that fell beneath the 
long gray mansion wall, half hid as were the stones by the 
leaves of climbing ivy. An opened book lay on his lap, 
3^et from the way his head hung down I deemed that he 
had dozed. While swung I round the pup, with teeth fast 
buried in my sleeve, I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs. 
Then perceived I, as rode they up the avenue, a lady upon 
a roan horse, followed by a groom. A second glance 
showed me most truly that here was none other than Lady 
Merryweather. Then was I minded to take that means 
of disappearing which seemed the most convenient. Tear- 
ing my sleeve from the grasp of the pup’s firm teeth, I 
quickly scaled to the upper branches of the chestnnut, 
and was hid among the leaves. Yet loath was the pup to 
part thus with its master, for frisked it round the roots, 
looking upward and barking much. As they came near 


mR PEILirS VISITOR. 


45 


did my Lady perceive the small dog, and I heard her ask 
of the groom : 

^^What may he the kind of creature that yonder cnr doth 
thus threaten 

The fellow in a tone which did partake somewhat of 
surliness, made reply : 

^^Cats, my Lady.” 

Both then looked sharply at the branches of the chest- 
nut, yet perceived no cat, nor caught a glimpse of he who 
was in hiding there. I did note that the horse she rode, 
as well as the groom^s, were much poorer beasts than our 
Dick, and were their trappings old. Her riding habit was 
of faded look, while was his livery soiled much and rent. 
And did the fellow seem to think his attendance on her 
irksome, no doubt for reason that she was in measure a 
dependent on her niece, the Lady of Clayton, and thus 
entitled not unto his full respect. When he had dis- 
mounted, and had in careless fashion aided his mistress to 
alight, she made her way toward my yet dozing sire. It 
might be from her manner seen that she were well pleased 
to come upon him thus — since now she were assured full 
well of audience. As came the Lady Merryweather close 
unto Sir Philip, he was aroused, no doubt by sound of her 
short footsteps, and gazed he at her for an instant with 
look of much astonishment. Then did he cast aside his 
book, and springing up he made salute with courtly grace, 
of kind for which Twas said he had in younger days been 
famed. To this she seemed to make acknowledgment in 
fitting way; and, in compliance of his wish, expressed no 
doubt, she took the seat he had made vacant for her use. 
Then with hands light-clasped, and bending o'er her he 
appeared to ask what might he her pleasure. 


46 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Though I could watch, from where I sat in hiding on 
the chestnut branch, their motions and much of their 
expressions, as if all these were in mere dumb show made 
and put on, yet did I not catch from distance aught of 
the meaning of their words. Each seemed to smile in 
pleasant way; and then, no doubt, they called unto each 
other’s minds recollections of the days gone by. And soon 
their manner changed; for on her face was now a look 
of discontent, while did my sire seem to give expression 
of much sympathy. Once she glanced quickly at the 
groom, who would oft pull on the horses’ bits in needless 
way and cry ‘Vhoa” in impatient tone. And then it 
were like she spoke of how the fellow was but little minded 
to show unto her the deference her rank deserved. At 
length her manner seemed to undergo another change, 
and there was something tender in her look, as if she were 
hinting, in way most delicate, and naming not the thing 
with bluntness of well-fitting words, that he might prove 
his noble nature in way most practical by making one, 
who had ever cherished him v/ithin her heart, my Lady of 
Merton. Yet to her glance did not Sir Philip make reply 
in kind. His look and manner much savored of respect, as 
he no doubt did fence in gentle way gainst her artful 
thrusts. At length she rose, as if to take her leave, while 
seemed he not in any way to urge on her to tarry there. 
Then in his courtly way he led her to the spot where 
stood her horse, and most gallantly did aid her in the 
mount. And meanwhile had he turned upon the offending 
groom a piercing look that caused the man to put off 
within an instant his careless way and to assume an air 
well suited to his place. And as the Lady Merry weather 
passed along she did nod pleasantly in reply to the salute 


SIR PHILIPPS VISITOR. 


47 


of parting vrhich the Knight of Merton waved to her. 
Yet I did note when she was nigh my hiding place that 
in her look was much of disappointment; and I heard her 
sigh deeply. For some moments Sir Philip gazed after 
his departing guest; and then turned he upon his heel 
and walked slowly to the porch, where picked he up the 
discarded book with which he passed into his library. 

Nigh to a dozen times thereafter came Lady Merry- 
weather unto my father, telling him of trials, and seeking 
counsel of him; and no doubt with that tender look of 
hers giving unto him the hint, which he were never 
minded to take. Yet am I full sure that in these visits 
she were treated in the old courtly way and listened to 
with much respect. 

Late in the winter which followed was that unhappy 
lady seized by sudden illness, which in two days’ time 
carried her away. They bore her to Merton Church, 
where was her funeral; and went there my sire and his 
heir. As she were of the quality herself, the high families 
for miles around came to her burial. Lady Clayton made 
great pretence of lamenting at the loss of this her aunt, 
who ’twas well known she had looked upon in light of an 
encumbrance. While read good Parson Hayden from his 
book of prayers, as stood he above the coffin in the house 
of God, and while at the grave he did pronounce that unto 
dust had dust once more returned, was there upon his 
face a look that betokened much contentment, rather than 
small grief which would have been more fitting to the 
time. And oft would he glance round with his small 
eyes upon the gentle-folk he loved, and of whom he 
deemed himself as one, which was he truly in so far as 
went his right of birth and office. 


48 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


Y, 

THE DE WYCHEELTS. 

When” were it Spring again, there came to dwell at 
Hazel Lodge, within a mile of us, the Baron de Wycherly, 
and his proud family. Had he taken for some months 
that place, while was his seat of Gorley Castle made well 
nigh over new, and much enlarged and beautified within. 
Though not many years gone, the fortune of this noble 
were counted small, yet had he thereafter, by favor of a 
great one that did for a time stand high at Court, been 
given hand in some transactions of monopoly on certain 
things which were much needed, and might be made in 
consequence to bring high price. And thus it came to 
pass that by the time his patron lost his favor at the 
Court, had the strong-box of de Wycherly been filled to 
overflow. The first time that the Baron came to Merton, 
had I just finished lessons, and was ready with my rod 
and line to start for Merton brook, to angle for the fish 
I had been told were seen to dart within. And had my 
tutor likewise been set free from what was to him a task 
as well, for did my lessons now of him demand much pains 
and study. As he passed out into the avenue I heard the 
Parson give exclamations of much pleasure. Turned I to 
see what might be the cause of this, and I beheld good 
Master Hayden rubbing well his hands and bowing low 


THE DE WYCHERLT8. 


49 


before a short, broad gentleman of pompous mien, and 
decked in rich attire. Though did the stranger take as 
his just due the homage which was thus paid him, yet 
he seemed to look upon his worshiper in way that much 
savored of contempt. Having done sufficient honor of 
this sort unto the gentleman, the Parson turned and 
• walked beside him toward the Hall ; and meanwhile would 
he forward bend and twist his neck that he might gaze 
into the face he reverenced. As paused he in his seeming 
flow of compliments, his glance fell upon his pupil whom 
he beckoned to come to him. Though loath to delay, if 
only for an instant, my search for much desired flsh, I laid 
down my rod and line, and striving hard to well conceal 
the displeasure which I felt at this ill-timed summons of 
myself, did I approach him. Then making toward myself 
one small nod, my tutor said : 

‘^May it please thee, my Lord, to notice the heir of 
Merton.^^ Then turning to me he went on in loftly tone: 
“Walter, thou art in the presence of my Lord, the Baron 
de Wycherly.” 

Did I bow low before the Baron, who patted me upon 
the shoulder and in gracious way, albeit with much of 
loftiness in voice and look, and said : 

“Thou seem’st a good lad, Walter, and I trust that thou 
wilt look in some day upon our small Lodge. I have two 
sons, one nigh thy age. Henry and Paul may prove play- 
fellows for thee. And have I, besides, the small lady, 
Maud, who mayhap will give thee bright glances that thou 
shalt long remember. And will my Lady de Wycherly 
give to thee much that will suit thy boyish palate. Thou 
will come some day to Hazel, wilt thou not, Walter 
4 


60 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


^^Thanking you, sir, will I do this,” did I make reply, 
again giving him low bow, so be my father shall see 
fit to give me leave.” 

'^Will he most surely do that, Walter, for shall I make 
plain to him it is my wish that he send thee to us.” 

The Baron said this last in somewhat pompous way, 
and then, with the groveling guidance of the Parson, he 
passed into the Hall. Seizing quick my rod and line, I 
did haste across the fields in hope to make up wasted time 
ere I reached the brook. For then I minded little that 
there had on me an honor been bestowed in having thus 
been noticed by one of such rank. What to me was this 
de Wycherly, or all the peers of our great realm, their 
ladies, or their daughters, or their sons, when weighed 
against the fish I now did crave? Yet found I, this after- 
noon of Spring, that the things which we desire much, 
and do seek and follow after with much zeal, are apt to 
show more skill in the evasion than do we in the pursuit. 
For thus it was with one and all of the finny prizes which 
I then vainly strove to get. When toward the evening I 
wearily returned to the Hall, I astonished much Jane 
Edmunds by the largeness of my appetite at supper. The 
good housekeeper was in a fiutter of spirits, due to what 
she deemed the honor paid to Merton by the visit of the 
Baron, and of which she did gossip much, in such like way 
as this: 

^‘^Of truth my Lord de Wycherly is most grand and 
lofty in his air, and to obey his proud commands were 
happiness. He doth seem to know and to presume full 
well on his high place. Strange has it seemed to me that 
good Sir Philip doth not bear himself more proudly — 
though of a truth the Baron could ne’er comport himself 


TEE DE WYCHERLTS, 


51 


with that easy grace which so well fits thy sire. Heigho, 
though many of us be not born gentle, some like I have 
privilege to dwell among the gentle. Soon will the Barones 
sons have thee to play and feast with them at Hazel, and 
thou shalt see fair Maud, whom do they say is beautiful 
and growing more so every day. And mayhap the noble 
youths will come here to be with thee. Then will I make 
for them dishes that will be most fit, and confections for 
the which do all boys have longings. And might it 
chance they would remember Mistress Edmunds for the 
dainty things she would prepare for them.” 

Within a fortnight was word brought from Plazel Lodge 
to Merton Hall that upon the next day the young de 
Wycherlys would much pleasure find in giving entertain- 
ment to Master Walter Wynnington. The third hour past 
the noon, was the time named when they would look to 
see their guest. And from thence till nigh to midnight 
did Jane toil to render my best suit more fitting for the 
morrow’s use. The cloth bore many marks of time and 
wear, which was in part removed by smoothings neath 
heated irons. And was the lace, which in some places had 
become much frayed, repaired by new pieces in most deft 
way. Likewise was my linen made to wear a newer look, 
while were the tarnished buckles on my shoes caused to 
shine once more. And of a truth Jane gave the improve- 
ment of her careful touch to every article of my apparel. 
So in the morning she spoke with old Joe, who was our 
groom, when were not the needs of our small garden call- 
ing for his time, and did impress full well upon his 'mind 
that poor worn Dick should be made to look at best when 
bore he Merton’s heir to Hazel Lodge. And hours spent 
the old man in the cleaning and the rubbing down of the 


52 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


poor nag, while were the saddle and the other trappings 
brushed and scoured to such extent as had these not 
known in many years. When came my tutor for our 
lesson his face beamed with a kindness which had he 
never vouchsafed to me afore. He made as if we would 
pursue our task in wonted way, and opened at its proper 
place the hook. Yet had scarce a moment passed when 
he did pause, and began to dwell with much of fervor 
upon the high place among the folk of quality which was 
now held by the noble Lord, who had seen fit to summon 
me that day to friendly intercourse with his delightful 
offspring. Then touched he on the many virtues of Baron 
de Wycherly, and pointed out how might the favor and 
the patronage of him he lauded thus he turned to much 
account. Though listened I with outward show of due 
respect to this worldly lesson which the Parson read unto 
his pupil, yet did I pay small heed or thought to the words 
he spoke. When he withdrew, some little while before 
the hour of twelve, observing more than full half -holiday 
in honor of my visit to the folk whom he deemed so great, 
he did wish me, in all appearance of sincerity, joy and 
success. When came I to partake of an early meal before 
the putting on of my renewed attire, I found that scarce 
a dozen mouthfuls had been prepared for me. And did 
I ask our Jane if there were great lack of food within our 
larder. With a laugh made she reply: 

^^Have we plenty for thee, my Walter, if indeed thou 
shouldst care for it; yet did I not think thou wouldst ask 
for much, preferring rather to save thyself for the many 
goodly things which they will offer thee at Hazel.” 

And when was brought to me more food, I partook of 
this in quite sparing way, being minded to pay heed to 


THE DE WTCHERLYS. 


53 


her good counsel, though in more reason than did Jane at 
first propose. When had been made complete my toilet to 
her full satisfaction, for had she been at pains to smooth 
out wrinkles and to see that naught set awry, or were like 
to twist from out its proper place, there came to me a 
servant who said Sir Philip had wish to see me in his 
library. 

^‘Thy sire,” exclaimed Jane, ^fis right to wish to see 
how brave his son doth look, when he goeth thus forth 
among the great. Full sure am I that he shall find delight 
in beholding how well I’ve decked thee out.” 

Yet when I came unto my father, did he pay small heed 
unto the fashion or the set of my attire, beyond remark- 
ing that he were pleased to note that I had shown a due 
regard for neatness. Then placed he his left hand upon 
my shoulder, and looking gravely into my face, he said : 

^^My son, to-day shalt thou enter the house of one who 
is deemed great. Of a truth is his rank higher than that, 
w’hich by my Sovereign’s grace is mine until I shall pass 
away, and which I pray God shall in all due time be con- 
ferred upon thee. Though thou art upon a lower plane 
than the de Wycherlys in point of rank, yet hast thou no 
need to abase thyself, for thou hast had sires who have 
stood with Kings. So shalt thou treat in all due respect 
thy elders, following in reason such wishes as they may 
be pleased to give expression of to thee. Yet shouldst 
thou not seem too desirous of winning favor. Bear thyself 
with courtesy unto the Baron’s sons; yet when they have 
grown familiar, should they see fit to treat thee in haughty 
fashion, give no heed unto such airs. If thou shouldst 
deem thyself as not receiving treatment such as is due 
their guest, resort not to expression of thine anger, but 


54 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


withdraw thyself at once, doing this with all becoming 
courtesy. Thou shouldst show a gentle and a high respect 
toward the Baroness de Wycherly, and in lesser way do 
all meet honor to the little lady thou shalt see, and mind- 
ing ever that aside from attributes of grace and beauty, 
doth the very weakness of that sex give them good title 
to our chivalrous regard. Yet shouldst thou allow no 
one, from the Baron down, to induce thee to do any of 
those things which have I from thy childhood strove to 
impress upon thee as being unworthy of thy gentle blood.” 

Having perceived that I did in measure comprehend 
the true purport of that which he had said to me, my sire 
smiled pleasantly, and removed his arm from my shoul- 
der, as if to make plain that I were now free to go. Made 
I my way unto the stable door, where I found Joe putting 
a final touch to the grooming of old Dick. And might 
that dumb beast have wondered at my unwonted appear- 
ance, due as it were to much cleansing of myself and trap- 
ings, as was the case with him. As I started to ride away 
called Jane after me to pause, and then she ran out to 
admire me as sat I upon the horse ; and she did vow as well 
that Dick were now fit for any gentleman to go astride, 
were he even oh his way to Court. And as I rode out 
through Merton’s gates, I do confess I were conscious of 
some slight puffings out of vanity within me. Yet was 
all of this thing taken from out me when I came to Hazel 
Lodge, There upon the porch stood two finely-appareled 
and well-looking lads, the elder of about my own years, 
and as well one very pretty maid, whose age might be 
between that of the others. As I pulled up my nag, the 
three gazed at me for a moment, and then looking into 
each others’ faces they burst out into loud laughter. And 


THE DE WTCHERL7S. 


I did note that the eyes of the little maid, while gave she 
up herself to merriment, shone and sparkled like as dia- 
monds. Blushed I deeply, yet did I not feel sure that any 
disrespect unto myself had been intended. As I did 
alight from the back of honest Dick, saw I the Baron de 
Wycherly come out upon the porch. When he perceived 
me, cried he loud and sharply : 

^^John! John! Come hither! Where may the varlet 
be!” Then glancing pleasantly at myself he said, albeit 
somewhat in a tone of patronage: ‘^Glad to see thee, 
Walter.” And now to the lads: ^‘What might be the 
cause of all this laughter I have heard? Surely thou 
wouldst not think to show discourtesy to our guest.” 

And then did come hurrying from round a corner of the 
Lodge, a young groom in spruce livery. As he took Dick’s 
bridle-rein from me, looked he first at the animal and 
next at myself. Then smote he with left hand his leg and 
chuckled, shaking his head in rolling way as he led off 
my horse. Whereat the lads and likewise the girl gave 
way again to mirth. 

^^Come hither, Walter,” said the Baron, and as I did 
ascend the steps to the porch, turned he to the elder lad: 

ask thee again, Henry, what is the cause of this merri- 
ment?” 

The boy, now much sobered in his manner, made reply : 

‘^Sir, could we not refrain from laughter since had the 
horse of this young gentleman so odd a look.” 

“Yet, my son, to thus laugh at that which may belong 
unto my guest is unseemly.” 

“May it please thee, sir,” I now put in, “if thy sons did 
but laugh at my poor nag, has there no harm been done, 
since Dick hath no feelings to be wounded, no matter how 


56 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


much sport be made of him. l!Tor can I look with reason 
for aught of beauty in him, since he is for the most part 
a mere work horse. Yet, now that my notice has to the 
thing been drawn, am I minded that of a truth our Dick, 
when polished up as he is to-day, hath a look that is most 
comic and laughable.” 

Whereat I did myself indulge in mirth, and in the 
same was I joined by the lads and maid, and as well by 
the Baron himself, who then made each of his children 
known to me. 

‘“^Master Walter Wynnington,” said he with graciousness 
he had not shown toward me afore, ^^of an ancient family 
of Kent, shall know my children. My elder son Henry, 
so named most fitly as shall he be, when comes his turn, 
the head of the house of de Wycherly.” With a lofty air 
had he spoke this. Then turning to his daughter with a 
gleam of proud affection in his eyes went he on: ^^This 
little lady is my Maud, and shall she be fit some day to 
wear a lofty coronet.” 

At this did Mistress Maud give slight toss of head, as if 
she gave full weight unto her sire’s fiattery. Then admir- 
ing her beauty, as none could fail to do, I made low bow 
unto her. It might be that in this act there was some- 
Avhat of the grace that should by right of just inheritance 
have come to me from Sir Philip. For did she of truth, 
with soft blush of pleasure, make recognition of me, while 
had her air now much of graciousness. And I did note 
that Henry looked upon me with more of favor. Was 
my notice brought to the younger brother, when the 
Baron nodding toward him said : 

^Ts this my younger son, Paul.” 


THE DE WTCEERLY8. 


57 


Yet did not his tone betray now so much of interest, 
as when he had spoken of his two elder offspring. I noted 
that Paul was not minded to reply in kind to my friendly 
words. In truth he did grin at me in far from pleasant 
way, and his eyes kept wandering over my attire. Then I 
made hazard of the guess that he were somewhat envious 
of me for the spruceness which good Jane had been at 
such pains to impart unto my garments. 

As the Baron led me into the Lodge, I held well behind 
me in left hand my hat, of which in truth was I less proud 
than of the other articles of my apparel. Was I shown 
into a room that was adorned in a way of splendor such 
as my eyes had never seen. Seated in a chair, that did 
have about it much of carving saw I a handsome lady with 
hair somewhat touched by the softness of silver. Was she 
dressed in costly way, and I noted that her look were 
proud even to haughtiness. The Baron brought me nigh 
to her, and said : 

^^The Baroness de Wycherly sees before her young Mas- 
ter Walter, the only son and heir of Sir Philip Wynning- 
ton, who, as doth she well know, is of an ancient family 
of Kent.” 

Again did I how, yet this time more low and taking 
greater pains than when I had been made known to Maud. 
My Lady smiled at me in pleasant way, yet with much of 
loftiness, and said : 

^^Am I glad to see thee, Walter, and do I trust that thy 
father. Sir Philip, is well.” 

^^May it please thee, madam,” I did make reply, ^^Sir 
Philip doth appear to he in best of health.” 

^^That is well, Walter. Yet is it a pity he goeth not 


58 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


more among liis neighbors/’ Then giving a faint sigh, 
“I fear me he will never in full measure recover from the 
loss of your m^other.” 

Next she began to ask me questions of myself — of the 
things I liked and did not like, though seemed she to x^ay 
little heed to the rex)lies I made her. And meanwhile 
would her eyes seem to light upon my apparel, and travel 
quickly over this. When at length her questioning had 
come to end, the Baron gave me over to his sons to be 
entertained of them. 

^‘Come with Paul and me to the play-room,” said Henry, 
‘^and thou shalt see some rare toys.” 

Then gave I expression to thanks which in truth I did 
not feel, since I was loathe to leave the presence of Maud, 
and gazed I wistfully at the maid, with her long, fair hair 
and lovely face, in which were set lips of red, and dark 
blue eyes that sparkled. Did she perceive my regret at 
being taken from her, and for reward she smiled at me in 
vanning way. The Baroness had no doubt perceived the 
look which had I cast at her daughter, since I did note a 
smile of some amusement on her face. Henry led the 
way to a large upper room, followed by Paul and myself, 
though the younger brother not once glanced at me save 
with that same peculiar grin; nor could he then restrain 
himself from eyeing my apparel. Yet did his elder brother 
seem already well inclined toward me; and found he much 
pleasure in showing me his toys, of which he had many 
of new and varied sorts, the like I had not dreamed of. 
Then was I minded of my own great poverty of such 
things. When Paul were urged to bring forth his own 
treasures that I might give these my admiration, he did 
this slowly, and as if grudging me the sight of them. 


THE DE WYCHERLYS. 


69 


When at last I had seen and handled each of his toys, we 
played at games. And then was Master Paul minded to 
thwart me of success when chanced it in his power to so 
do. And likewise did he call attention, though not by 
means of so many words, to my lack of skill and ignorance 
of rules, yet never for the once to least unfairness. In 
truth were the cheating more largely done by him than 
by his better-minded brother. When we were wearied of 
the games, Henry proposed that we should go to the sta- 
bles and see the ponies which had been given to him and 
Paul the week gone by. Yet when had we come to the 
play-room door, who should stand there but Maud her- 
self. So pleased was I at sight of her that I did not for 
the instant perceive that her arms were filled with dolls. 
Said she in sprightly tone : 

were sure that Master Walter would wish to see my 
dolls.^’ 

Whereat both Plenry and Paul made protest, saying it 
were most foolish to suppose that such a boy as I were 
minded to pay heed to these silly things. Though had I 
ever looked with contempt upon such childish semblances 
of man and woman kind, yet now had I the wish to put 
aside for the once this dislike; and with that intent, I 
said: 

^^By your leave, young gentlemen, I would fain look at 
these same dolls, albeit I had never had a fondness for 
such things before.” 

Did Maud at this give a little laugh of triumph; and 
then told she in turn the name of each one of her small 
family, with some small discourse upon the tiny crea- 
ture^s qualities and history. While I looked at each with 
intent to show some interest, though paying small heed 


60 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


to what was said concerning it, I was considering how 
much more deserving of my admiration was her own fair 
face. And would in truth my look wander from the doll 
to her bright eyes, on the which did it stay fixed, till in 
obedience to her I turned to the next of the little ones. 
And when she, having finished with the last and least 
loved of them all, turned to leave the room, she smiled at 
me both with lips and eyes, as if in thankfulness for hav- 
ing so paid heed unto her wish. And meanwhile had her 
two brothers waited in impatience, making in low tones 
remarks upon the folly of all dolldom. I craved of them 
pardon for having thus kept them waiting, and though 
looked the elder well disposed to forgive whatever of 
annoyance I had caused, did the younger seem by his 
manner to have for the guest a yet lower regard than 
before. The ponies were the finest that I had ever seen. 
Looked I on while the lads made trials of these, and did 
Henry offer to allow me a ride upon the back of his pony. 
This I made acceptance of with many thanks, and was 
much pleased with my ride. Yet did Paul not follow the 
example of his elder brother, being minded no doubt to 
keep his pony to his own use. Next we looked at the other 
horseflesh in the stables, and I did note that amid this 
poor Dick made but a sorry show. And presently there 
came in search of us a maid-servant, who said that the 
Baroness would have us come to her. We found that there 
had been spread for us a feast, which to my joy I found 
was to be graced by fair Mistress Maud. Was I seated 
opposite to her, and gazed much at her, though not 
thereby seeming to earn aught of her displeasure. Though 
my appetite were not large, while did she dispose of much 
good things, I strove to keep her fair company in the 


THE DE WYCHERL7S. 


61 


matter of her eating by poking down my own throat food 
which I craved not. And betwixt bites I paid to her some 
attempts at compliment, which took she in good part, 
replying nnto such with glances of some archness. The 
Baroness looked on, as likewise did her husband; and I 
noted that both seemed much amused. Mayhap it was my 
sprouting gallantry that caused their many smiles. The 
director of our feast was Maud’s governess, a short and 
sprightly Frenchwoman whom they called Celeste. Would 
she bustle in and out of the room, smiling and chattering 
and shrugging oft her shoulders. Did Henry seem minded 
to give full attention to the feast, and of a truth was he 
then in famous appetite. And as well Paul kept his own 
counsel, while neglecting not his plate. Yet would he 
from time to time give me his odd grin, and cast his 
glance o’er my attire. And all save this younger son took 
kindly leave of me, when came the time for my departure 
and I went forth to mount old Dick, who was being held 
with needless grasp of rein by the spruce groom. As I 
rode away turned I in my saddle and with hat doffed, I 
waved a farewell salute unto my hosts, who stood upon 
the porch. And the last I did note of them was the bright 
and shining eyes of Maud de Wycherly. 


62 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


VI. 

MERTON’ HOSPITALITY. 

When I had come to Merton onr Joe was in waiting to 
take Dick, and did he ask me if they were not well pleased 
at Hazel Lodge with the way in which my horse had been 
groomed. Had I not the heart to relate to the honest 
fellow how the poor beast had provoked the mirth of all, 
from great de Wycherly down to the groom. So I put 
him off by saying there was no animal in all the stables 
of Hazel which showed such care and neatness as the one 
I rode there, and that the groom who took him from me 
had seemed much struck by his look. Scarce had I set 
my foot within the Hall when came to me Jane Edmunds, 
who gazed at me with admiration, paying the most heed to 
my dress. Then did she exclaim: 

“Dear Walter, thou dost much credit to me, and right 
sure am I that thou wast well received at Hazel.” 

“That was I, indeed,” I made reply. 

“And I will be bound, Walter, that they gave praise to 
thy attire, which I did mend and furbish up so well. IsT 
not so?” 

“Hay, Jane; they said naught concerning this thing to 
me — yet when I come to weigh the matter well, am I 
minded that in truth the younger son Paul could scarce 
keep his eyes from my apparel.” 


MERTO:^ HOSPITALITY. 


63 


“Then is he a lad of taste. Eight glad am I that he 
found pleasure in gazing upon my handiwork.’^ 

“Yet did he not look pleased. In truth, Jane, was his 
look one of downright displeasure.” 

“True — he envied thee — ^yet were it natural of him so 
to do. Poor lad, he hath no one to look after him as I 
do for thee. ^Twere not reason to suppose his lady mother 
would he minded to busy herself with such things.” 

Then she asked of me further questions touching my 
visit, and did the splendor of the house which I had made 
entrance to impress her in mighty way. With open mouth 
and with awe in her look listened she to my answers. 
And noting this could I not resist the Tempter’s hint to 
make embellishments. Yet did the things which were 
unreal appear to her the most real, and seemed to cause 
the good woman the greater joy. On the morrow when 
my father sent for me, and I came to him in his library, 
I did make my account of the yester doings with far more 
of truth, giving naught proportions greater than had such 
to my own eyes held; and yet dwelt I not then upon the 
charm of Mistress Maud that had so deeply impressed me. 

“Thou wast well treated, my son,” Sir Philip said, “I 
did deem it as not impossible that they should in loftiness 
of pride forget what was thy right, as such as they have 
been known in past to do.” Then with a shake of head: 
‘^et thou needst not look ever for so much of consider- 
ation at their hands. And must their hospitality have 
some measure of return; so will I ere many days send for 
the two lads to come here to thee at Merton.” 

“And, sir,” exclaimed I with much of eagerness, “wilt 
thou not when thou mak’st invitation, ask that there shall 
also come hither Mistress Maud — and — her governess.” 


64 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


so, my Walter/^ Was there an odd smile on my 
sire’s face, and a twinkle in his eye, as he went on : ‘^And 
dost thou think then those lads of de Wycherly’s would 
find less pleasure in their visit to us, if came not their 
sister with them ?” 

do not think, sir,” said I with much of blushing, and 
with confusion in my manner, ‘‘ ’twould be so very much 
for their joy that I would wish their sister here.” 

^^Then hast thou, Walter, an admiration for this maid, 
whom did Parson Hayden say was passing fair ?” 

^^Sir, she is in truth as hath my tutor said; and have 
I indeed an admiration for her,” I now declared right 
boldly. 

^^An early admiration such as this is not like to last; 
but while it doth so do ’twill cause thee naught of harm. 
Yet is it not well that she be asked to come here, since, 
even were the invitation made, sure am I the Baroness 
would not permit this thing. So thou shalt possess thyself 
in patience, Walter, until they shall in turn again sum- 
mon thee to Hazel.” 

Some weeks were fiown ere Sir Philip was minded to 
send for the Baron’s sons to come to Merton. And did 
Jane in fond anticipation of the visit cause the servants 
to cleanse and garnish every room within the Hall which 
the noble youths were like to enter. And did she again 
with her own hands brush and cleanse and overhaul what 
she no doubt considered as my gay apparel. Likewise 
prepared she such dishes and confections as she deemed 
would be pleasing unto my guests. On the day of the 
coming of the de Wycherlys Master Hayden wasted no 
time upon the learning of his pupil, but did he devote 


MERTON HOSPITALITY. 


65 


himself to telling me how I should strive to gain the 
friendship of the young gentlemen who tarried at Hazel 
Lodge. And when came the pair riding up the avenue 
upon their sleek ponies, the Parson ran forth to give them 
welcome, I being held hack by good Jane, who was giving 
completion to her work of grooming me by rubbing down 
a most stubborn crease upon my sleeve. When did I at 
length gain freedom, and went out upon the porch, was 
my tutor ushering the guests up the steps with look of 
vast respect. And in his homage to the lads did he seem 
to grovel only less than had I seen him do before their 
haughty father. When had I chance to speak with them 
I perceived that Henry seemed full minded to respond 
with kindred warmth unto my greeting. Yet did his 
younger brother reply to me with much of coldness in his 
mien, and wore he a look as if he found no pleasure in 
his visit. While was Master Hayden yet hovering around 
them, and striving much to gain of them the eye of favor, 
came forth Sir Philip, who in easy way gave them wel- 
come, and asked concerning their sirens health and that of 
their mother. And was there in his manner somewhat 
of that courtly grace which did so well upon him fit. I 
did note that Henry, and in some measure Paul, gave 
expression of respect and liking for my sire. And now 
there swiftly fell upon my tutor a hitter disappointment. 
Up the avenue, upon an old horse dripping foam from 
nostrils, rode a lad who wore a troubled look. In our 
rustic form of speech did he cry out that his granny, old 
Gammer Jasper, was. at deaWs door, and that she would 
fain have consoling words from the mouth of the Parson, 
else could she not pass hence in peace. There came into 
5 


66 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


the good man’s face a look which to me seemed in truth 
to smack of great annoyance; nor did this clear aA^^ay 
when Sir Philip said to him : 

“While thou art with the Gammer, wilt thou not see 
if there be aught that I may do for her 

Then my father led our guests into his library, while 
I tarried for a moment watching the Parson, who would 
gladly have made excuses for not going unto the dying 
woman, yet finding none well suited to his need. Then 
did I hear him in low tone utter a curse, after which 
strode he up to the horse and pushing back from the rude 
saddle the lad, who gazed fearfully at him meanwhile, he 
mounted. With look of much displeasure and in snarling 
tone bade he the lad to hang on, and rode away. Then 
I joined my guests in the library, where my father seated 
in his large chair was asking them touching their studies. 
They did speak, and in tone of small respect, of their 
tutor at Gorley, whose time was now much given to look- 
ing after the changes which were being made about the 
Castle. And meanwhile had they holiday, which, they 
made admission, was far more pleasing to them than were 
lessons. Next did Sir Philip cause them entertainment 
by relation of certain amusing events of his own boy- 
hood. At length Sir Philip made intimation that ’twere 
now my time to play the host, and I began the same by 
showing the few battered toys which I possessed. I did 
not this thing from any wish to make display, but rather 
that I might render plain to them how much more had 
they been favored of fortune than myself. And in truth 
did the sight of my poor treasures bring a smile into the 
face of Henry, while Paul gazed upon them with the self- 


MERTON HOSPITALITY. 


67 


same grin as when his glance would rest upon my attire. 
And now broke there on me a light. Perceived I at last 
that his displeasure touching my apparel had not been 
brought about by envy of the same, hut by reason that he 
held this as of most common kind, as were my toys. I 
did reflect that in truth my clothes, in point of richness 
of texture and in the fashion of the make were no match 
beside those of Paul or of Henry; yet deemed I that upon 
the score of neatness, thanks to the labors of Mistress 
Edmunds, my dress stood superior to theirs. Hext did we 
pay visit to the stables, where Joe was grooming the two 
ponies, at which was he in act of gazing with much of 
wonder and of respect as well. The lads had another 
laugh at old Dick, who minded them not one whit; yet 
did they both show somewhat of admiration when came 
they to look upon my sire’s black hunter. Then played we 
at games upon the lawn, in which Paul, as if by accident, 
gave me more than once a sly trip. Presently came sum- 
mons to us from Jane, who did receive the guests with 
much of courtesying, and with large flow of flattery. 
Seemed they at first much minded to laugh and make jest 
of her well meaning words; yet when they came to taste 
of her cookery, which was this time in truth far better 
than ’twas her wont to lay before me, the lads gave expres- 
sion of their pleasure; and did they now look upon her 
with somewhat of respect. When came the time for their 
departure, did I beg of them that they would remember 
me with all due respect unto their sire and my Lady, and 
as well — I made addition with a blush — to their fair sister 
Maud. Whereat Paul said with face of much gravity : 

‘^Maud did send a message to thee by us.” 


68 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


I asked with eagerness what might this message he. 

‘^She said,” made he reply, ‘‘ Hell Master Wynnington 
that my dolls he well.'’ ” 

^Hndeed she said naught of the kind,” put in Henry, 
with somewhat of sharpness in his tone. 

As they were in readiness to mount their ponies, which 
were held without by Joe, Sir Philip came and joined me 
in saying farewell. Though did he, when they had rode 
away, return to his library, I remained beyond the steps, 
pondering on what might he the time which were most 
like to pass ere I should again he summoned to Hazel 
Lodge. Scarce had the young de Wycherlys passed from 
out my view, when heard I the noise of some one speeding 
swiftly. I glanced around and beheld Master Hayden, 
somewhat jaded of aspect, running along like an old 
hound intent upon his search for fleeing fox. Had he 
thus on foot run cross country from the death-bed of 
Gammer Jasper, in hope that by the shortness of the path 
he might come upon the noble lads in time to pay them 
3^et more of his court. Much lacking in his breath, he 
paused and asked of me: 

“Are they yet here ?” 

“Nay, sir,” I did make reply. “Yet are they little more 
than out of sight, and if thou shouldst pursue them at the 
speed thou hast made till pausing to ask of me, thou 
shalt overtake them before they come to Hazel ” 

Then without so much as making to me answer touch- 
ing the condition of the Gammer, turned he on heel; and 
much panting, and no doubt with inward curses, the good 
man strode away. 


VII. 


EN-CHANTMEN-T. 

Did I soon thereafter begin to watch with mnch of 
eagerness for the coming of the message that would give 
me title to again enter, without show of presumption, 
the place where dwelt fair Mistress Maud. And when at 
last I received one day the joyful tidings that I were 
hidden to visit on the morrow with my youthful friends, 
I was seized with fit of restlessness, which caused the 
hours to seem most long of passage. And in truth when 
I did stretch my limbs upon my couch, could these not 
stay where I had placed them, hut would twitch and 
thrash about, while would my body roll from side to side 
in vain attempt to find position which would bring to me 
some rest. ’Twas long past the hour of midnight when 
I ceased to wonder if sleep would come unto me before 
the dawn. Once I dreamed that I were walking by side 
of a small and shadowy pony, upon the hack of which 
rode Maud; yet I noted that she did lack her fairness and 
her shining eyes, while had her features grown much like 
those of Paul. And she gave his same grin and looked at 
me in his way. Then woke I in gratitude to know that 
had come no such change upon fair Maud; and dropped 
I off again in slumber with the pleasant thought that the 
hours were few ere I should behold her once again. Had 
my tutor gone upon a visit of some days to a certain 

69 


70 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Knight, whom he did deem as worthy of his high regard, 
and I were now left to study by myself. And in truth had 
then his guidance grown to he of small avail to me. Yet, 
when in the morning I looked into my hooks, could I not 
upon the lessons fix my wandering thoughts. 

After I had dined in small and frugal way, and had 
dressed with much of care, was I seized upon by J ane Ed- 
munds for my inspection and a final smoothing out. Then 
mounting old Dick, whom had Joe made to look as clean 
and spruce as on his first visit to the stables of quality, 
set I out in right joyful frame of mind. When rode I 
up to Hazel Lodge, I saw no one upon the porch; and it 
seemed as if my poor nag were not to receive his due 
attention in the way of mirth. As I did alight I saw 
coming toward me the groom, who had before taken care 
of Dick. Yet was he not this time minded to show mer- 
riment, for was his face grown long, and was there a 
look of sourness upon it. And when I spoke in pleasant 
tone unto the fellow, he made acknowledgment of this in 
most gruff form. Likewise was he harsh to Dick as he 
were leading the poor beast away. As I mounted the 
steps did the oaken door swing back and a man-servant 
in new and shining livery appeared. He beckoned to me, 
with more command in face and gesture than had I been 
wont to see in fellows of his condition, that I should 
follow him. And did I this in all obedience, with hat 
behind me held in left hand. Then was I shown into the 
grand room which I had seen afore. Here perceived I the 
Baroness de Wycherly, seated with some fine needlework 
in her lap. Was there a cold look in her proud face when 
first she glanced up at me. Then did I pay respect with 
bearing full as gallant as might be Rooked for in one of 


EHfGEAUfTMEl^iT. 


71 


my years, and to the which she replied with smile of some 
little gracionsness. Then with a motion that I might sit, 
she said: 

^Tleased am I to see thee again. Master W3mnington/’ 

For this sign of good will I gave her thanks and took 
the seat which had been offered, while went she on with 
her needlework, in which did she seem to take mnch of 
interest. There sat I for some moments, that did in truth 
seem long to me, and watched my Lady as she quickly 
moved the needle and the threads with her white fingers. 
And meantime I wondered much if Maud were like to 
make appearance soon, though not daring to ask her 
mother touching this matter. As naught was said farther 
to me by the Baroness, did I not deem that I had warrant 
for speaking unto her, engaged as she was thus busily. 
Hence did I sit in silence, yet finding no enjoyment in 
being thus within a fine room, where no heed were given 
me. At length there came the Baron de Wycherly, who 
in way of much loftiness did nod to me as I rose and 
bowed to him. Then he asked how might Sir Philip be, 
and when I had assured him of my sire’s good health, he 
said: 

‘^How it is, Walter, that thou art not with my sons ? I 
thought surely that thou wast to be shown to their play- 
room where they would strive to give thee some fitting 
entertainment.” 

‘^May it please thee, sir, naught was said to me of this; 
yet as I do know the way leading to that same apartment, 
I shall by your leave make bold to go thither.” 

^^Thou art right, Walter,” the Baron said, descending 
somewhat in his loftiness, ^^and I do trust that thou wilt 
be treated by my sons as is thy due.” 


72 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


When had I again shown right measure of respect unto 
mine elders of that house, I passed through the hallway 
and up a staircase, moving not hastily, which would have 
been unseemly. Yet did I linger more in hope that I 
might along the way chance upon bright Mistress Maud, 
than from regard of proper manners. Though I loitered 
much came I too soon upon the play-room door; and with- 
out the same I paused yet a moment. As there came 
along no beauteous maid with armful of rich dolls did 1 
knock on the door. And was this opened by Henry, who 
greeted me in way pleasant enough, albeit his thoughts 
seemed full intent on other things; while from Paul I had 
no more than distant nod; and did he as well have his 
mind elsewhere than upon his guest. When had the door 
been closed with care by the elder brother, he looked at 
Paul as if he would have his counsel touching some mat- 
ter. Then the younger said in tone which had some meas- 
ure of a snarl: 

^^Of course we need not stop for him — sure am I he 
would not tell.” 

^^Thou wouldst not tell upon us, Walter,” said Henry 
to me. 

‘^Hay,” made I reply, ^^of a truth I may not tell of 
things concerning which I know naught. Yet as to that 
hath my sire impressed it on me that Twould be mean 
and wrong to bear tales of what my companions do.” 

At this did Paul drag out from behind a chest the head- 
less trunk of a large doll, together with the missing top, 
and the rich apparel of this most ill-used creature. Then 
the rogues with sharp knives hewed off the legs and arms ; 
and next after much stabbing to the heart did they quar- 
ter up the trunk. And had they now naught left to give 


Els^CHANTME^^T, 


73 


them joy, save only to tear into small shreds the garments 
of their victim. And did I watch this cutting up, and 
sundering of threads, with most keen delight, albeit I 
were of full belief that the mimic creature had been be- 
loved of Maud. Had I but chanced upon the pair before 
the mischief were begun, I might have striven to save its 
life for its mistress, even to length of battling for the 
same. Yet, since I could not do such service for the fair 
one, could I at least make to them a hint the which might 
bring to her fit recompense, and so I said to them : 

‘‘The creature was, I will be bound, well on in years; 
and doubt I not the brothers of its mistress will at first 
convenient time procure for her another, of fairer face 
and finer garb, than did possess the poor dismembered 
one.” 

Whereat both lads gazed at me with face of wonder, 
and then with somewhat of a blush, said Henry : 

“Yes, Walter; we will do the thing thou hast named — 
unless we should have for our money some more pressing 
use.” 

But did Paul break out with laugh that grated on my 
ears ; yet not minding such I put this question to the pair : 

“How came it about thy sister knew not that her doll 
were gone?” 

“Ill,” said Master Paul with no intent of wasting words. 

“Indeed she hath much aching and throbbing of her 
head,” did Henry explain, “and thus is she forced to pass 
the day in lying down.” 

Whereat I uttered a most deep sigh, which led Paul 
to look at me and grin ; yet did not the elder brother seem 
to note the way in which had I expression given of my 
disappointment at this knowledge. And so, I thought, 


74 


SIR ALTER OF KENT. 


would this visit, for the which I had longed so much, be 
not lighted for one instant by Maud’s bright eyes. I gave 
no heed unto the council that the brothers now held as to 
how they might dispose of the fragments, which might 
tell of their youthful iniquity. At least were these put 
together, and for the present hid behind the chest. In 
our sports which followed, first within the room and next 
out upon the lawn, I found no pleasure, nor did I mind 
the pranks of sour Paul, albeit were these of more annoy- 
ing kind than had he tried before. When at last sat we 
down at our small feast, came not the haughty Baron and 
my Lady to look upon us; nor did the French governess 
show once her face. When was brought to me word that 
my nag awaited me without, I bade farewell to the two 
lads in most gloomy way and left them, not minding that 
their father and their lady mother had this time given 
me small notice. Yet was my wretchedness turned of a 
sudden into joy; for as I were about to place foot in 
stirrup there ran out unto me fair Maud, with winning 
smile and sparkling eyes, and withal most neatly decked 
out and fresh of air. She made in soft voice excuses that 
she had not seen me till then. Was there in her look that 
which told that she perceived I did gaze at her in 
way of worshiper. The while was my conscience just 
enough unto me to give reminder with some small twinge 
that had I found pleasure in watching the destruction of 
her loved doll. 

‘^Oh,” she exclaimed, ‘^‘^how the pains did shoot like 
small arrows through my head; and I felt so ill, while 
Celeste strove to soothe me. Yet when I knew ’twas time 
for thee to leave did I gainst all protest quick arise. And 
am I right glad to see thee again.” 


ENCHANTMENT. 


75 


.And she glanced so sweetly at me then that I could 
have flung me on the ground and kissed the dust before 
her feet. Yet all I did was to how, and in way of much 
confusion to say : 

“And was my sorrow turned to very joy when thou 
cam’st forth to me,” 

Then she made much of old Dick, patting him and 
laying her soft cheek gainst his bending head, while did 
the stupid dolt show no sign of happiness. And when at 
length had I mounted and the nag had started at a walk, 
I turned my hared head and gazed after her so long as I 
could see her shining eyes. Filled to the full with joy 
was I, as homeward I did permit the nag to amble at his 
own pace. And I sat that same even with wandering 
thoughts, and no doubt with smile of pleasure on my face, 
while Jane did gossip much and question me touching 
my visit. Dnto her I made dreamy answers, that at times 
strayed from the point. On the morrow when my sire 
spoke with me he nodded much as I told him how I had 
been received with far more of coolness than when first 
I went to Hazel. 

would be no cause for wonder, Walter,” he said, 
“if thou shouldst yet receive courtesy more scant from 
them. Yet like I the way of the elder son. Is he in truth 
of right sort. And do I note thou tak’st not to heart the 
neglect of the proud Baron and my Lady; for is thy pres- 
ent look a cheerful one.” 

“Sir, I have not told thee all,” I said, much blushing. 

^^So — so, my son, and didst thou after all see the little 
lady ?” 

Whereat I told him of the ending of this my second 
visit to the de Wycherlys ; and gave he expression of some 


76 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


amusement as lie watched me with closeness. Then shak- 
ing, first his head, and then his finger at me, he went on : 

‘Trom what thou hast already told me, Walter, am 
I of belief that she will not act always thus to thee. And 
wilt thou as well change toward her ere they leave Hazel 
for great Gorley Castle.^^ 

Albeit listening with show of due respect unto Sir 
Philip’s words, I did not then give them just weight, 
since I deemed it as out of reason that Maud should ever 
change toward me. Yet came the time, in course of not 
many weeks, when I did with much of clearness have per- 
ception of his wisdom. For the present went I about in 
way of moon-calf; and did I give thought to little save 
the beauty and the grace and charm of my young enchant- 
ress. Would I go cross country with stealth of fox, and 
then in agile way of squirrel speed to the upper branches 
of a lofty tree that did overlook at some distance the lawn 
of Hazel. And perched there would I for hours wait and 
watch for Maud. If by any chance came she within the 
range of my sharp eyes, put I these to much strain that I 
might see her but the plainer. And would I meanwhile 
in low voice speak tender words that gave a full expres- 
sion to my thoughts. For did this same talking unto ears 
which heard him not cause to the wight who uttered the 
silliness much of relief. And oft would it come to pass 
that I had perched at tall tree top, and had watched in 
vain for the fair one’s coming. Though in no way grudg- 
ing the long hours wasted thus, would I upon the earth 
alight with dreary thoughts, and homeward steal. And 
whenever I were bidden to Hazel, did Maud bear herself 
toward me in most pleasing manner, knowing in her heart 
no doubt the great esteem and admiration which I had for 


E^CEA^TME:tJT. 


77 


her. And for sake of her did I have kindly feeling to- 
ward her sire, and as well for her brother Paul, albeit were 
the lad’s pranks of most vexing fashion. Yet were it not 
for this cause alone that I had fondness for her elder 
brother, since had Henry some most pleasing ways, and 
had he ever borne himself toward me with show of con- 
sideration. For all this did he and I once come to blows. 
Had Master Play den gone upon a long journey and I were 
given holiday for some weeks. Then one day had I by 
agreement met the young de Wycherlys to fish with them 
at a point in the brook midway betwixt Merton Hall and 
Hazel Lodge. Yet did the fish seem to have some warning 
of our design, for came they not nigh our hooks, albeit had 
we full well covered these with bait of tempting look. At 
length Paul gave up his seeking after fish, and strove by 
means of stones thrown into the brook to splash me. To 
this paid I no heed, while he strove yet the more to give 
to me annoyance. When he perceived that these things 
were little like to move me, he made resort to taunts. 

^Tndeed art thou a pretty Knight’s son — hast thou 
scarce a toy,” he said, “and what thou hast is so worn 
and old that it were of no use, save to kindle fire.” 

“And yet, Paul,” made I reply, “I in all thankfulness 
may say that I have friends with rich toys, who in kind- 
ness do give me leave to see and play with such.” 

“I do call that beggarly,” went he on with a sneer. 
“Fine apparel hast thou indeed. The old-fashioned things 
thou wear’st be as much cause for laughter as that aged 
and ill-looking nag of yours. And shalt thou be never 
rich, for thy father’s estate is burdened with large debts 
which thou must pay. A pretty one thou to make eyes at 
our sister.” 


78 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


^Taul,” broke in Henry, ^^thon shonld’st not speak in 
this unseemly fashion to onr friend. Ashamed am I of 
thee for snch words.” 

Yet was not the younger brother minded to pay heed to 
the elder’s counsel. Did he rather in sudden way and with 
somewhat of fury spring at me, and upon me rain quick 
though feeble blows. Had I intent to do no more than 
throw from me the angry lad, yet I much misjudged the 
strength I used, for I sent him over backward into the 
hrook. As rose wet Paul upon his feet and came to dry 
ground, he wept in childish way, and declared that I had 
meant to make an end of him. And now did Henry look 
at me in angry way, and cry: 

‘^Hadst thou no right to do that savage thing unto one 
smaller than thyself. Yet shalt thou in me have one in 
size thine equal!” 

Whereat he sprang forward quickly and gave me a blow 
with open hand across the breast. Then went we at each 
other with our fists, for were I not minded to brook this 
insult. Were we alike in strength as well as stature, and 
so the battle were long and stubborn. Had Paul once 
made as if he would attack me from behind, yet did his 
gallant brother halt our confiict for the moment and bid 
him with threats to stand aside and give him no aid or 
encouragement by word or deed. Then went the battle 
on as fiercely as afore. And did we pummel each other 
with our young fists till trickled down from our nostrils 
small streams of blood, while were we swollen round about 
the eyes. Still would neither he nor I show sign of yield- 
ing to the other. Yet came it to pass that both at length 
were forced by weakness and by want of breath to pause. 
And panting much did we gaze at each other, with full 


ElsfCEANTMENT. 


79 


knowledge that so equal was the match betwixt ns that 
in truth might neither hope to prove the better. Then 
the gallant Henry reached out his hand to me in friendly 
way, and did I grasp this in quick and warm response. 
With that we parted, speaking not one word, for had we 
for such purpose scarce sufficient breath. When my 
father beheld me, and had from my lips truthful account 
of the small fray, he chided me not, nor said ill word of 
the BaroWs heir. Yet Jane bewailed my bloody smears and 
swellings, and wondered much at the cruelty of Henry de 
Wycherly in so inflicting marks upon myself. Yet when 
I had made it clear to her that my brave rival in the 
strife, whom I did now esteem more than before, had come 
to Hazel with full as much of blood and bruise upon his 
face as had I brought to Merton, good Mistress Edmunds 
saw fit to smile, and she said the honor of our house were 
safe. 

It was not long thereafter when it came to my ear that 
the renewal of Gorley Castle had come to completion, and 
that within a fortnight the de Wycherlys would go thence 
to dwell. Filled was I with sadness at the thought that I 
should no longer have chance to behold fair Maud, even 
from my perch upon the tall tree-top. Did my last meet- 
ing with her ere she went from Hazel come about by 
chance. Having gone one day some little past the hour 
of noon unto my watch tower, in hope of gazing from the 
distance at my enchantress, waited I full long in vain. 
Then came into my head the thought that I would greatly 
wish to place a kiss on her soft cheek at parting. Yet did 
it not seem to me that I could thus make bold with her. 
Had it chanced the year before, that as I were walking 
homeward late upon a summer’s day, there came along 


80 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


bright Nancy Brooks, the bouncing daughter of a farrier 
who dwelt hard by. Were her cheeks full and of the red- 
ness of a ripened peach; and as she did approach to pass 
me by she seemed not to pay me heed, but kept her eyes 
in way demure upon the ground. And was there a look 
of such freshness in her face, that when swiftly there came 
on me the thought to taste her lips was I not minded to 
oppose the wish. So thrusting my head beneath her neat 
black hood, I kissed her full upon the lips. Whereat did 
she, albeit without glancing in my eyes, make me a 
courtesy and say: 

‘^Thank you, good Master.” 

Then went she on her way, with same demureness and 
with eyes upon the ground, as if naught had took place 
out of the common run of things. Yet as I did recall this, 
while waiting in the tree, were I in truth of full belief 
that Maud de Wycherly would not so kindly take to such 
a freedom as had Nancy Brooks. When at last with much 
of sighing I gave up the hope which had brought me 
thither and slid to the ground, I heard a cry and then 
beheld close at hand Maud herself with look of fright in 
her face. Yet when she perceived that it were but myself, 
who had thus alarmed her by coming in such way adown 
the tree, she laughed. And with most arch look she asked 
of me: 

“How came you, Walter, to climb this same tree? Was 
it to seek bird-nests?” 

“Nay,” did I reply to her with blushing cheeks, “I 
climbed in hope of seeing thee.” 

Then she said with artful pretence of alarm that she 
hoped I would never break my neck for wish of seeing her. 
Next with a pout did she bemoan that she could find no 


ei^ceai;[tme:nt. 


81 


wild flowers, the search for which had brought her alone 
into the wood gainst the command oft given of her lady 
mother. Whereat made I ofler to search upon the morrow 
high and low that she might have a nosegay to her taste. 
Then did she say she were not minded to give me so great 
a task, and with a sigh added that she were soon to leave 
dear Hazel. And she bore herself toward me in such 
gracious and winning way that were I well nigh beside 
myself. Of a truth for one moment was I not master of 
myself. And heedless of what I had thought about this 
same matter while in the tree-top, I did throw my arms 
around Maud and kiss her upon the cheek. Then too late 
I perceived that I had done rashly, and released her in 
speedy way. With her eyes ablaze, and with scorn in her 
look, she exclaimed: 

^^Thou clown! How dost thou dare in such familiar 
way to treat one who is so much above thee ?” 

^^Most humbly do I crave thy pardon. Mistress Maud,” 
said I with much of humility, ‘The thought to do this did 
come most suddenly upon me.” 

“Will I never grant thee pardon,” went she on. “And 
I do much wonder at such boldness toward the daughter of 
a Baron who doth stand most high within the County, and 
who hath much of wealth. And then to think this hath 
come from the son of a Knight well nigh penniless — 
from the heir to few acres and many debts. Have we in- 
deed sent for thee to come to Hazel for naught hut to 
laugh at thee for thy old-fashioned and patched attire, 
and thy odd ways of speech.” Though made I no reply, 
yet her cruel words cut most deeply. Kext she changed 
her note to one of reproach, saying: “Thou didst make 
most cowardly attack on my small brother, for the which 
6 


82 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


might my elder brother have repayed thee most well in 
kind had he not pity for the clumsy way in which thou 
didst oppose him. And ^twas thou who didst incite my 
two brothers to destroy in wicked cruelty my most beloved 
doll, the Lady Nell, whose place may none other take.” 
Had I not even heart to make denial of this thing. Did 
she reach conclusion of her tirade thus: ^^And for these 
things, clown as thou art, do I hate thee. So do I pray 
that the sight of thee shall anger me no more.” 

Then with parting sneer did she turn from me and 
flounce away. With a sense as if of wounds about my 
heart I hastened on till the fall of night, minding not 
which way I went. Then worn and weary, came I to 
Merton, and avoiding worthy Jane, I crept supperless to 
bed. 


VIII. 


THE GUEST AT HILLGATE. 

Though did the wounds which came from Maud de 
Wycherly^s sharp words seem at the time to he most deep 
and of a deadly kind, yet to my wonder these in some few 
days began to heal. I chanced upon the way to meet her 
brother Henry, well nigh a week after I had received the 
hurt, and from his manner was I of the belief that he had 
Some small knowledge of what had passed betwixt his sis- 
ter and myself. Was he now most intent to show considera- 
tion unto me, and to spare my feeling. Did he hope that 
we might yet see each other more than once, albeit he 
made no hint that I might find welcome at Gorley. And 
when we parted he offered me warm grasp of hand and 
kindly glance. By holding mastery o’er my countenance 
did I prevent Jane Edmunds from gaining knowledge of 
Maud’s change of bearing toward me. Had I then given 
expression of my wounded state, would it have caused 
the good woman much of pain; and would she no doubt 
in strivings toward the soothing of her Walter, have many 
times brought to him reminder of that which he with some 
effort were striving to forget. Yet did she much wonder 
that I was not bidden to Hazel for a final leave-taking. It 
chanced that I did not again have speech with Sir Philip 
till the day but one after the departure of the de Wycher- 

83 


84 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


lys. Then looking into my face in his searching way, he 
asked: ^‘Dost thou miss thy noble friends, Walter?” 

‘^Sir,” I did answer, ‘^glad am I that they are gone to 
Gorley Castle, though had I some liking for the Baron’s 
heir.” 

^^Didst thou say heir, or heiress, Walter?” 

^Told I truth, sir, when I said heir.” 

^^So — so,” Sir Philip said with knowing look. “Then 
hast thou been disenchanted — for do I read with much of 
clearness upon thy countenance that the thing I named 
to thee as like to come to pass has of a truth been full 
accomplished, and within the time I set. Will I ask no 
question touching the manner in which this change was 
wrought, if so he thy heart yet bleeds.” 

“Nay, sir, it he now as whole and sound as ever.” And 
having said this, did I without the need of urging give 
to my sire true account of that my last meeting with the 
cruel Maud. When had I come to end was there some- 
what of amusement in Sir Philip’s look. 

“Of a verity,” he said, “are these de WycJierlys a high 
family, and has this present Baron gained much wealth. 
Is he the second Baron of the house. Was the first sum- 
moned by reason of certain precious services rendered to 
a great man, for whose sake had he made most treacherous 
abandonment of a patron who had ever used him with 
great kindness. Was the first Baron by all report of 
common stock, and was the name de Wycherly assumed. 
The real name, which have I forgot, had no high sound. 
Nor was old Gorley Castle his family’s ancestral seat, as I 
am told he would have it to seem. And is the proud 
Baroness of high birth — ^upon her father’s side. Were he 
indeed a great one, albeit was the mother lowly born. 


THE GUEST AT HI LEGATE. 


85 


though of much beauty. Kor did the sire and she deem 
marriage rite as of their pressing needs. Do I not tell 
all this to thee, my son, for love of gossip, to the which am 
I hut little minded. Yet would I warn thee, Walter, that 
in such as these de Wycherlys wilt thou see much of o’er- 
weening pride. And mayhap, when they have strove to 
humble thee by high words and airs, it shall soothe thy 
feelings to recall, that though the Wynningtons were 
never more than Knights, yet Knights have they truly 
been from Hastings to Armada’s days.” 

’Twas the year thereafter that there came an old soldier 
of Fortune to tarry with Sir Harry Bullard of Hillgate. 
This latter were in truth the self same Knight whom Baron 
de Wycherly had through Parson Hayden urged upon my 
sire to join in treating with contempt and rigor for reason 
that he were by birth and faith a Catholic. This soldier 
bore the name of Don Jose de Madura, and was a cousin 
of Sir Harry’s wife. Did he limp much by reason of a 
wound, made by musket ball, upon his ankle. Of estates 
had he none, nor had Dame Fortune made him from her 
bounty more than slight recompense for his years of serv- 
ice. And had the little which did come into his hands by 
right of plunder, been most quickly and freely wasted by 
him. And so was he now driven to subsist on what his 
kinsmen and friends might be minded to bestow upon him. 
When first I beheld Don Jose was old Dick enjoying the 
rare pleasure of ambling beside the black hunter, on which 
sat Sir Philip. Passed we, coming from the other way. 
Sir Harry and his wife’s kinsman; and with both did my 
sire make exchange of courteous salute. Don Jose was at- 
tired in way of some splendor, albeit were his gilt greatly 
tarnished. I noted that his sallow face bore mark of a 


86 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


sabre thrust, and in part seemed covered with short white 
bristles. When were the pair out of our hearing, did Sir 
Philip say to me : 

‘^Sir Harry’s guest, have I been told has seen many 
lands, and hath much learning. Would he in truth make 
a fine tutor for thee, my son.” 

Though said I naught, yet in my heart was I by no 
means grieved at thought of exchanging the Parson for 
another tutor. And was there that about the stranger 
which had caught my eye. Then came the thought that 
at odd whiles ’twould be better to listen unto tales of 
fierce doings in strange lands, than to my own tutor’s 
most wearying recital of the smallest ways and doings of 
the noble ones before whom had he much groveled. Some 
few days thereafter when came I out upon the highway, 
after a ramble near Hillgate,! saw Don Jose limping slowly 
along, yet with somewhat of swagger. Was he coming 
from the other way, and when I were nigh him did he dart 
at me an angry look from out his small black eyes, and at 
same time he gave the stout stick he bore some small 
flourish. Was there surely in my face expressed some- 
what of my wonder that he should glance at me in such 
way, since had I done naught to merit his dislike. Yet 
I made to him salute in respectful way. Then he looked 
at me with somewhat of favor and paused, which did I 
likewise, thinking he might wish to have speech with me. 
Next with but slight accent of a foreign sort, he said to 
me: 

^^How now, lad, art thou not af eared of me? When 
thou perceived me, why didst thou not run with all speed 
hence, lest the bloody Papist should hew thee in small 
pieces that he might with more of ease devour thy flesh ?” 


TffE GUEST AT HI LEGATE. 


87 


truth, sir,” I made reply, ‘‘I did not fly since I 
feared no harm from thee.” 

Whereat the old man laughed in hearty way. Next 
clapping me upon the shoulder, went he on thus : 

see — thou art a brave lad, and I like thee. I did hut 
look at thee in cngry way from mere jest, as I do to others 
of thy age, since so many of them in this land of thine 
have made sco2 at me as an instrument of Satan and of 
the Pope — who say my hands do drip with blood of 
Protestants — that I were most busy with my sword upon 
the Eve of St. Bartholomew. And in truth were I then 
within the walls of great Paris, albeit I shed no blood, hut 
did truly, and at much risk unto myself, save lives of 
certain heretics. I might tell thee, lad, tales of war that 
would cause to thee much of delight.” 

^^May it please thee, sir, I would he most glad to listen 
unto such,” I said. ^^And though I Avould not wish to see 
the shedding of blood, save to necessary ends, yet might I 
most calmly hear tales of much letting of the same.” 

^^Then, my lad, could I tell thee of red waves which have 
mine eyes beheld flowing upon trampled fields, and might 
I teach thee how to let, in most easy way the blood of 
enemies, for their good and for thine own as well. Could 
I in truth make of thee a swordsman of some skill. Like- 
wise could I cause thee to add to thy English tongue the 
Spanish and the French as well.” Then he smiled in 
pleasant way, marking no doubt the delight I surely gave 
expression of at the much bewildering array of oppor- 
tunities which he had named. Next went he on: ^^By 
our Lady, I might make a man of thee. What may he thy 
name?” When I had told him this he nodded much. 
‘^Nov/ I do recall that I passed thee yesterday with Sir 


88 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Philip Wynnington. I have it from my kinsman that 
thy sire is true Knight and man as well, and that he hath 
used him ever as just neighbor should. And of a truth 
do I hold him not one whit the less in my esteem for being 
heretic. Do I trust, my boy, thou wilt name to thy sire 
the things I have spoken of.” When had I in fervid way 
gave assurance that I would so do, he made conclusion 
thus: “Surely the good Knight will permit that I in- 
struct and amuse his heir.” 

Then did Don Jose pat me again upon the shoulder and 
give me smile of much encouragement, after which went 
he upon his way. Did I not fail that same eve to seek out 
Sir Philip, and to recite to him all that Sir Harry’s guest 
had said. And showed my father much of interest in that 
to which he gave ear. When I had told all to him, he said 
that he would consider of the matter. On the morrow 
when Master Hayden had come for our lesson, did he with 
much of curiosity on his face, say to me : 

“Have I just seen Sir Philip riding forth in his most 
trim attire, and with the black hunter groomed more to 
suit the eye than hath been the wont for some while. Hath 
thy sire of late years rarely gone upon visits to his neigh- 
bors; and yet doth he this day in truth seem minded to 
show himself unto some friend. Whom might it be, I do 
wonder. Thou know’st not, Walter, eh ?” 

“Kay, sir,” made I reply, albeit I did in my heart have 
hope that Sir Philip had gone to seek Don Jose. 

After we were through the lesson, the which my tutor 
did not at first comprehend, so that I were at much pains 
to make it clear unto him, he said : 

“Do I hear much of a certain cutthroat scoundrel who 
tarries for the while at Hillgate, and who openly avows 


THE GUEST AT HILLGATE. 


89 


himself a Papist. Doth not Sir Harry think that he works 
sufficient of evil by clinging himself to the Babylonian 
faith? Hay, he must needs add to the burden of affront 
towards his godly neighbors by thus maintaining in their 
midst a man, or rather would I say a demon, who slew his 
scores in the horrid Eve of St. Bartholomew. Would I be 
bound that fellow has tasted child’s flesh. And some who 
were of sufficient rashness to go nigh him do aver that his 
feet have not the proper shape — that neath his shoes there 
be hoofs.” 

^‘^Yet, sir, I think not so,” said I in the defence of my 
new friend. ^Tor yesterday I beheld Don Jose, and more- 
over had speech with him. Though are the fashion of his 
shoes most strange, since were they made in distant lands, 
yet do these go to excess in the way of length, whereas 
would they be most short to fit with aught of snugness and 
of ease a hoof.” 

‘^Hay, nay, boy, there art thou at grievous fault, for in 
the pictures which have I seen of Satan in mortal guise, 
wore he long shoes, of the very sort thou hast described. 
And in truth hast thou proven by word of mouth that, 
though this Don — whatever might be his name — may not 
himself be the Evil One, yet hath he a devil’s hoof. And 
thou shouldst take shame to thyself, Walter, for having 
paused to hold converse with him. Thou shouldst have 
fled, or since ’tis said the fellow be lame and could not 
have hoped in reason to overtake thee, thou might have 
reviled him, albeit keeping wary eye upon him lest he 
might show a pistol.” 

^^Yet, sir, would Sir Philip not take me to task with 
much of severity if I should bear me toward an elder and 
a stranger in such way ?” 


90 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


meant not, Walter, that thou shoiildst be lacking in 
the right courtesy which thy sire hath taught thee. Yet 
sure am I thou couldst have avoided this miscreant.^^ 

^^Yet, sir, touching the charge that Don Jose hath aided 
in the foul murders of St. Bartholomew, he did say that on 

that same Eve he were in Paris ’’ 

“Ah, and had he the hardihood to make confession that 

he hath dyed his hands with 

“Nay, sir,” did I in turn make interruption, ^die said far 
from that. Though shed he not one drop of blood, did he 
at much risk unto himself preserve the lives of some of our 
own faith.” 

“There hast thou again, Walter, proven the villainy of 
this same man of blood. For doth the very fact that he 
made denial of the hellish part he took in that same bloody 
revel, assure me of his guilt. My boy, would he never dare 
in this land of good Protestants to give of his deeds a true 
account. Of a certainty is he thus convicted by his own 
mouth.” 

And now did the door open, and entered Sir Philip, 
much to the wonder of us both. When had he in pleasant 
way made salutation to the Parson, my sire said to him : 

“Have I the wish, sir, to give thee now holiday from the 
task of instructing Walter. Though have I no reason to 
complain that thou hast in any way failed of thy duty, 
since in truth doth thy pupil seem to have come on right 
well in way of learning, yet now is there opportunity of his 
gaining knowledge that may prove of great service unto 
him. And for the present will this new teaching give occu- 
pation to the lad’s time.” Then as he did note the look of 
dismay which o’erspread the countenance of Master Hay- 


TEE GUEST AT HILLGATE. 


91 


den : et, sir, will I not find need to withdraw from thee 

the small stipend of thy place as tutor.” 

‘^Thou art truly kind, Sir Philip,” the Parson said yet 
wearing still a troubled look. ''And would it seem meet 
for me to ask who it is that shall have the pleasure of 
instructing in my stead thine heir ?” 

"It chances,” made my sire answer, "that there is now 
in this neighborhood a Spanish gentleman, who hath been 
scholar as well as soldier, and who hath desire to instruct 
Walter in the French and Spanish tongues, and as well in 
art of fencing.” 

Filled though I was with much delight at this prospect, 
yet had I wish to spare the feelings of my old tutor, albeit 
having little fondness for the man. So I strove to give no 
expression of the liking for this change which I truly felt. 
Yet had I little need thus to hide from him my thoughts, 
since did not the Parson pay least heed unto myself. Was 
he gazing at my father with look of horror. Next he 
asked: 

"Can it be truth. Sir Philip, that this same instructor is 
now the guest of Sir Harry Bullard ?” 

"Is it he — and none other.” 

"Yet, Sir Philip,” did Master Hayden urge in pleading 
way, "canst thou place a Papist as teacher to thine heir — 
one that might lead the boy to embrace, perhaps in secret, 
the ways and abominations of wicked Home ?” 

"Eest you easy upon that score, for hath this gentleman, 
by name and title, Hon Jose de Madura, given unto me full 
assurance that he will in no way strive to turn his pupil 
from the faith in the which were he born.” 

Whereat the Parson shook his head and muttered: 


92 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


‘^Have they of Eome but small regard for oaths and prom- 
ises.” 

Yet did his countenance soon clear, since had he no 
doubt perceived that Sir Philip were not to he turned with 
aught of ease from his set purpose, while as well might the 
good man have found it a consoling thought that the 
stipend were to he had without the earning, and that would 
he now have more time in the which to seek the favor of 
the great. 


IX. 


KECOLLECTIONS OF ST. BAETHOLOMEW. 

The next day came Don Jose to Merton Hall, and was 
shown with all due honor to a great chamber, over against 
the one which for some years had been my own. And 
when they brought the box which contained such belong- 
ings as were yet his, I did note the smallness and its shabby 
look as well. Said he to myself touching this : 

‘^Thou dost perceive, Walter, that since I have been 
used to camps and marches, am I little minded to much 
cumber myself with needless things of luxury.^^ 

Did Jane Edmunds, when first she beheld my new tutor, 
gaze at him with senses well nigh gone from wonder. When 
next I chanced upon her she exclaimed : 

‘^Most strange to look upon is this Papist man! And 
yet hath he, I did truly note, a kindly look about the eye ; 
and will we find him no doubt right pleasing in the main. 
Dost not think, Walter, we might turn him from the errors 
of Eome ?” 

I then looked at Jane in searching way, and thus did 
bring a blush into her face. Next, in meaning tone, 
I said : 

‘‘^Have I told to thee, J ane, the romance of good Mistress 
Sarah Quick.^^ 

^^Thou hast of a truth made recital of the same to me,’’ 
she said, while her blushes deepened much. ^‘Yet why dost 

93 


94 


8IR WALTER OF KENT. 


thou recall this matter now?’’ Then came there a quick 
snapping into Jane’s eyes. ^^Dost think I would have this 
same white and yellow limper from yond seas for a hus- 
band, though might he be a dozen Dons ?” 

^‘Nay, good Mistress Edmunds; would I in truth ne’er 
have hardihood to hint at such a thing. Yet did come the 
thought to me that if foolish Sarah were now here instead 
of thee, would she become enamored much of Don J ose.” 

Though my soft answer in measure turned away her 
wrath, yet did she look at me in way of suspicion, as if she 
were much in doubt touching the truth of my extenuation 
in the matter. But I did note that she bore herself with 
strange reserve toward my tutor, who in truth seemed 
little minded to show her gallantry. Mayhap by this warn- 
ing hint I saved Jane from some such fate as that of her 
who had kept Merton Hall before her. That same even 
did Don Jose treat Sir Philip and myself to the first recital 
of his adventures. Then sat he in the library holding his 
small glass of red wine, oft emptied to end that his throat 
might be kept clear for speech, and likewise filled again 
that it might be in all- readiness for like pressing need. 
And would he at times shift this from one hand to the 
other, no doubt to rest them in turn from weariness of 
many fiourishes and gestures, by aid of which did he give, 
now accent, and now illustration to his words. Sat my 
sire opposite to Don Jose, and in his large chair. Wore he 
grave face, save when aught were said in jesting extrava- 
gance, or were some amusing incident related. Then would 
Sir Philip relax his features with a quiet smile. When it 
did chance the point were clear unto me, would I laugh 
with somewhat of heartiness, albeit keeping watchful eye 
upon my sire, lest he should be minded by sharp glance to 


RECOLLECTION^ S OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. 


95 


give unto me, as had been his wont, reproof for an excess 
of mirth. Yet when the story were serious of vein, telling 
of the letting of blood or of some hazardous escape, would 
I harken in wonder, though striving much meanwhile to 
keep my eyes within their hounds, and my mouth from 
flying open in unseemly way. While was he telling of the 
Eve of St. Bartholomew, Don J ose spoke thus : 

“Was it, by our Lady, a most fearful night. In the 
afternoon of the three and twentieth day of August, while 
I did take the air chanced I upon the Count — yet with thy 
leave. Sir Philip, will I name no names — is it sufficient to 
say that this noble stood high in the party of the true 
faith, albeit thus calling the Catholic belief for the satisfac- 
tion of mine own conscience, and not with aught of intent 
to cast reflection upon the religion of the honored Knight 
of Merton.” Here did my sire make his acknowledg- 
ment by slight how. “When he named to myself the things 
which were planned to come to pass at the midnight hour 
a feeling of horror stole upon me; for though I have little 
minded the sight of much blood upon the fleld of battle, 
yet for resort to massacre had I ever hut small fondness. 
Still deeming it unwise to speak my true thoughts touch- 
ing the matter, I did feign zeal in this same, and thus de- 
ceived the Count, with whom had I more than once before 
fought against the misguided and wicked heretics; yet 
craving your pardon. Sir Philip, as meaning to cast naught 
of reflection upon the doctrines which dost thou in all 
honesty of purpose follow.” Once more my sire with slight 
bow made acknowledgment to Don Jose. “Of a truth did I 
lead the Count to believe that I would see to the taking 
ofl of a certain family of — the proscribed faith which dwelt ^ 
next door to where I lodged, while waiting to offer my 


96 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


service unto the — Catholic party in the renewed wars of 
the religions which I foresaw, and which did of a truth 
come about. Yet when there was darkness did I steal in 
secret way unto this family, marked as Hwas for swift 
destruction, and gave to them warning of their danger. 
Yet whither could they flee ? Six of them were there, and 
five servants. Did we weigh well the conditions and the 
chances, and fixed at last upon a plan of mine own devis- 
ing, for would their mute terror have surely led them, but 
for my counsel, to give way unto despair. Was there in 
this house a loft, to which the entrance lay through a trap- 
door in the ceiling of a certain chamber. By means of a 
ladder they all mounted into the loft, taking with them 
water and provisions. Then did they close the trap-door. 
This was I able to conceal by the curtains of a bed, which 
I moved until it were right beneath the same trap-door. 
Next went I through some of the apartments, choosing 
such at random, and scattering things right and left, 
thereby giving to the house a look of much confusion, such 
as would surely mark a place that had been left in much 
of haste by fleeing holders of the same. Then in secret 
manner did I depart, taking care to leave the outer door 
ajar, yet to a width of not more than a single finger’s 
breadth. Next I returned to my lodgings, and fastening 
upon me a cross of the fashion that was to mark the mem- 
bers of the destroying bands, I sat and awaited the hour of 
midnight. Once or twice I glanced out from my window 
upon the dim streets that to me seemed to wear a strange, 
deep gloom. And was there likewise something passing 
strange about the silence which then did hang over the 
great city. Swift flew the time, and sooner than had I 
looked for such, came there upon my ears the distant sound 


RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. 


97 


of bells. Then sprang I to my window and listened. Came 
there far-olf shouts and sound of guns. Of a truth Twere 
now the bloody day of St. Bartholomew. I ran forth upon 
the street, and were the sounds now louder and nearer. 
And was there more than one glow, fast gaining in its 
brightness, upon the sky. With the nearing shouts and 
noise of musketry could he heard words of terror and 
woman’s screams. Lights burned in many windows and 
faces looked out, albeit did such seem to wear most strange 
aspect. And was I of uneasy mind when looked I upon 
the dark walls and windows of the house wherein were hid 
they whom I had strove to succor. And now heard I rapid 
footsteps, and when I glanced in the direction from whence 
these came, I beheld a man, half dressed, who had come 
from round a nigh corner and was running at full speed 
toward where I stood. As he came nigh, did he half pause 
as if fearing me. Yet when he saw that I had turned aside, 
as if not minded to check him in his flight, he rushed 
swiftly past ; and then did I note, even in the dimness, the 
hunted look upon his face. Scarce was he a dozen yards 
beyond me when round the self same corner he had passed 
came a pursuing throng, two of whom bore dripping 
torches. As came they up to me I showed to them that I 
had, in pretence at least, taken up the blood-red cross. 
Yet one of them cried out to me in panting tone : 

^Why didst thou let the fleeing heretic pass thee ?’ 

^‘Not paying heed to this demand, I called out in tone 
of authority: 

‘Halt there !’ 

“Thereat came they to standstill, and in hard-breathing 
way looked at me as if disposed to listen to my words.- 
Five were they in number. All wore swords, or else long 

7 


98 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


daggers, while were there two that as well bore axes. And 
did the one who had called out to me carry on his shoulder 
a musket. 

have need of your aid/ went I on. ^Yonder half- 
naked wretch is of no value to us, since will he of a surety 
fall into the hands of others of the true belief. Yet hath 
such an one,^ naming my patron, the Count, ^committed 
to me the pleasing task of making end of the family,^ here 
I spoke the name of those that had trusted in me to pre- 
serve them, Vho live in this same dark dwelling. Do I 
demand the aid of each of thee in this matter 

^AVhereat the five gave expression of joy at the prospect 
of a speedy butchery; and the two with axes ran forward 
with intent to hurst in the door of the house which 
had I pointed out to them. But when they found the por- 
tals free to them, by means of the door being left some- 
what ajar by myself, gave they expression of wonder at 
this thing. Came I into the house with pretended look of 
apprehension, and cried out : 

^ ^Sdeath, can the heretics have fiown from the toils I 
did spread for them at such pains ?’ 

‘‘When, hurrying about the place I led them to the 
chambers which had been by my owja hands thrown into 
confusion, came there to the minds of the five belief that 
their prey had fied. Loud were their curses, and in the 
utterance of such did I join in the words, yet not in spirit. 
When he who bore the musket said to his comrades that to 
lament were surely of most small avail, and gave to them 
reminder that there was yet awaiting much work for zeal- 
ous hands, I declared that further tasks of useful kind had 
been set me for that same night. As with the others 


RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. 


99 


passed I from the house did I say to one of the twain who 
bore axes : 

^ "Sblood, would I be avenged of this place ! If thou 
wilt hut for the space of a moment give me loan of that 
heavy weight of sharp steel thou bearest, will I have down 
this same door, which in truth should have been barred 
gainst us rather than left ajar/ 

^Nay, friend,^ made he reply, ^the right of smiting 
down this door, as well as the pleasure thereof do belong 
unto my comrade and myself/ 

^^Whereat did he and his fellow make sharp attack with 
their axes upon the oaken barrier, which yielded to the 
blows and tottering inward crashed upon the floor. Then 
the five upon the one hand, and myself upon the other, 
exchanged the wish that our search might have for reward 
the blood of many victims. They passed quickly up the 
street, while I faced opposite to them. Yet did I not go 
this way far ere I paused, and kept within an easy distance 
of the house whose dwellers had I thus far preserved. 
Twice I perceived small bands bent on blood going nigh 
the place, yet each time did they upon beholding the fallen 
door imagine that murder had already been done within. 
Yet should it have chanced that my trick failed to give im- 
pression as I desired, and the fellows should have entered 
in the house, would I have run in among them and spread 
report that had these heretics made good their escape from 
the place, though had they all been caught elsewhere and 
destroyed. Did the clamor, now distant and now near, not 
for a moment cease as slowly wore away the night. 

“The glow from the fires had dimmed much when the 
dawn first showed itself high in the East. Then went I to 
LofC. 


100 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


my lodgings for rest, though had I in truth no thoughts 
of sleep. Stretched I my limbs upon the couch, though 
holding them in readiness for use if my ears should catch 
more than wonted noises from out the street. Might it 
have been nigh unto the hour of eight when I arose, and 
tasted some little food for sake of strength. Then went 
I forth once more. Though silent were it near at hand, 
yet was there noise of many distant shouts upon the air. 
Passed I through the doorway, which my wits had opened 
now some hours gone by, and mounting to the chamber 
from whence the trap gave entrance to the loft, I spoke 
softly to the hiding ones, bidding them to he of good cheer, 
for did I count them as saved, though in truth might they 
be forced to lie thus under cover for some few days. Came 
there in reply low words of thanks and the assurance that, 
though they had undergone the torments of ceaseless 
alarms throughout the fearful night, were they yet all alive 
and well, and would pay close he^d unto whatever of 
counsel I might give them, since they reposed in me full 
confidence and trust. When had I reached again the por- 
tals, I beheld two skulking fellows who wore not the badge 
of the slayers. I doubted not their purpose was to rob in 
this house, as they mayhap had done at others which bore 
signs of having been burst in for the taking off of Pome's 
rebels ; and did I call out to them : 

‘How now, my fellows ! Why come ye so late to gather 
up the fragments of the feast. Already have full five of 
your kind entered this place and helped to strip it of the 
few things of worth it had once possessed. Will the time 
in truth he wasted here, unless ye are minded and prepared 
to tear up and carry hence the boards of floors and case- 
ments.' 


RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. 101 


^Nay, good master/ did one of them make reply with a 
laugh. “^God be praised we are not driven to such labors 
as thou dost name. If not here, is there elsewhere value to 
be had for the picking up.’ 

^^Whereat the twain made off, and were soon out of view. 
Did I loiter within sight of the place for some hours, and 
yet saw I no one approach the same with seeming intent 
of making entrance thereto. Then deeming it safe to so 
do, I wandered from the neighborhood in aimless way and 
for no set purpose. Were in truth the sights of that da}’’ 
most trying unto me, old soldier though I might be. Did 
I chance upon the dead of all ages and of both sexes, while 
were some hewn and torn in horrid way. And once when 
I were passing by a group of dead, which seemed to be all 
of one family, I beheld approaching this three ladies, richly 
clad, and attended by as many gentlemen of haughty mien, 
who wore the red cross. And did they pause and gaze with 
look of interest upon the victims of the King’s decree, just 
as they would upon so many beasts or rare birds which had 
the hunters brought from out the forest. Then he who 
seemed the youngest of these gentlemen uttered some- 
thing, which I failed to catch, but which was no doubt a 
jest, for burst they each into a laugh. Next spoke she of 
these ladies who was tallest, and to me looked the fairest. 
And likewise did she seem, albeit in a voice most musical, 
to utter some sort of jest. And had this surely much more 
of wit than was there in her companion’s, since now the 
laughter came in loud peals. Then passed they on, in 
search no doubt of other sights which should please them 
as had this. And were these very gentlemen in courtly 
fashion showing much respect unto the ladies, while the 
fair ones tossed each her head in wilful way, as are her kind 


102 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


oft wont to do when conies to them the homage of the 
stronger sex. More than once I beheld some luckless one 
with terror in his face as ran he panting down the way, 
while close behind him there pursued a band who no doubt 
did deem this thing as a new form of that rare sport, the 
chase. And were there some groups of lookers-on of rab- 
ble sort, who would now yell, and now laugh in gleeful way, 
when they beheld such hunted ones either run to earth 
and finished by sharp steel, or else brought down by skilful 
aim of bullet, or of hard missile. 

‘^Yet of all the scenes of that day, the one which did 
the most impress itself upon my mind I beheld when 
chanced my steps to bring me by the Palace of the Louvre, 
where dwelt Charles the Ninth and the relentless Queen- 
mother. Then heard I quick steps and glancing round I 
saw another of those hunted creatures, who driven from 
his cover vainly hoped that in his flight at mere haphazard 
there might chance to open to him some asylum. Came 
there into my mind the thought that Twould he well for 
this one if there should speed a swift bullet now to quickly 
end his time of torture. And just then my eye fell upon 
a figure at an opened window of the palace. ^Twas a man 
who grasped a musket, the which did he now aim at the 
fleeing one in what to me seemed most careless fashion. 
Then with a strange laugh, that had much of wildness in 
it, he fired. Did the bullet go far wide of mark, and the 
runner kept on. But shall I never, to my last day, forget 
the look upon the face of him who had fired that same 
ill-aimed bullet. Did it in truth seem as if he beheld hor- 
rors from the which he strove to keep his thoughts by rest- 
less action. Much shook his nerveless hand as yet this clung 
to the smoking musket; and I did note the unhealthy look 


RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. 103 


he had, and the great disorder of his hair and beard. Be- 
fore had he disappeared I perceived this unhappy one to be 
none other than he who wore the crown of France. Though 
were he in truth called King Charles the Mnth, were he 
but wax in the hands of his cruel and ambitious mother; 
and Twas she who in his stead did rule. And though it 
vrere his hand which signed the mad decree that had 
washed the streets of Paris with blood, yet had he been 
forced to do this by her stronger will; for were in truth 
such fearful deeds far from his thoughts. And whene’er I 
think of those who have had misery brought on them 
through this same time of St. Bartholomew, am I minded 
that the one who the most deserved my pity was the Ninth 
Charles of France. And in truth am I of firm belief that 
the foul massacre were brought about by ambitious minds 
for both revenge and party ends. Did I but think there 
were aught in Rome’s teaching that would give warrant to 
the acts of that most bloody time, then would I in scorn 
renounce mine ancient faith.” 


104 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


X. 

ONE SMALL MAID. 

When Sir Philip asked of him whether the family 
whom he had succored made final escape with their lives, 
replied Don J ose in these words : 

“Were they forced to remain in hiding for full seven 
days, while saw I to it that they had sufficient food. And 
would I each even steal up to the chamber beneath their 
loft, and give to them account of how the rage gainst their 
people were fast expending its wild fury. At last I brought 
them through the gates of Paris by means of a written 
pass which I had favor to procure.” 

When he had said these last words he sank back into his 
chair and uttered a most deep and dismal sigh. Then did 
he of a sudden seem to perceive that there were naught to 
provoke such expression in the recital of the escape of half 
a score of people from grave perils, and with a laugh he 
went on: 

“By our Lady, Twas a strange matter for me thus to 
sigh over, but in truth was I not so doing by reason of 
their lives having thus been spared. Yet what did occur 
thereafter doth leave recollections, the which do still 
renew a soreness in my breast, albeit would I not wish to 
make hint that for my labors and perils in their behalf I 
was not shown right measure of gratitude. For have I on 
that account small ground for just complaint.” 


0:t^E SMALL MAID, 


105 


Now did Sir Philip seek to turn Don Jose’s thought 
from that which might bring him pain, hy asking if he had 
wished to join the Armada. With a laugh made he this 
reply: 

^^Nay, Sir Philip, ’twould have availed me naught to 
have wished, since was I then, and sorely gainst my will, 
in the service of one Muley Bey, a considerable man in the 
land of Algiers.” 

Then the old soldier related to us how having taken 
ship from Cadiz, with view of offering to the Venetian 
Council a certain project by the which might both they 
and he hope to profit, the ship was fallen in with hy a 
large and swift pirate of Algiers. Did he and his com- 
panions offer hut small resistance, seeing that they might 
not hope to make escape against such odds as now opposed 
them. Was poor Don Jose sold at a price, which he 
deemed as low to point of mockery. And was there now 
upon his face an injured look as he made mention of this. 
Yet was it a matter of good fortune that he fell into the 
hands of Muley Bey, who caused him to instruct his sons, 
and as well certain of his retainers. Also did he on his 
part pick up the language of his pupils. Then told he of 
the odd ways and customs of the people amid whom he 
dwelt in captivity. And did he cause old Muley Bey to ap- 
pear in most comic light, by telling of his frequent lamen- 
tations o’er the too great fondness of the ladies of his 
harem for warring amongst themselves. 

He said touching this matter that would they pull out 
much of hair; and likewise was there many scratchings of 
face with design to mar beauty. And since was Muley of 
a tender heart did he not order that punishment should 
be meted out unto the offending women. Made Don Jose 


106 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


his escape after captivity of some eight months; and in 
getting off was he forced to kill one and sorely wound an- 
other of his pnpils, which grieved him much. Yet was 
there somewhat of consolation in the thought that the 
twain had heeded not with strictness the precepts touch- 
ing the handling of the sword which had he imparted to 
them, else would they not have come to grief. 

On the morrow gave the old soldier-scholar his first les- 
ions to me in the Spanish and the French tongue as well. 
And later in the day did he bring out foils ; and then with 
look of much amusement in his face would he with sjight, 
easy motions of the wrist ward off the thrusts which would 
I make with far more of eagerness than of skill. Then he 
began to show me the proper way to hold my weapon, and 
the many moves of both attack and defence. And would 
he make explanation in most clear terms of the wherefore 
of each motion. When drew to end this lesson, came there 
in unto us Sir Philip, who was minded to knock some of 
the rust from ofi his fencing arm. Then did our professor 
of this same art show his great skill, frequently and with 
ease disarming his opponent, till at length my father re- 
tired from the contest, and in strong words gave praise 
unto my tutoFs work. Yext did Don Jose tell us of fenc- 
ing deeds which had he performed upon fields of battle, 
and as well relation made he of some amusing things said 
and done in times of war. 

And passed on thus the months with profit and as well 
of pleasure to myself. Did I learn with much of quickness 
to put my thoughts into either French or Spanish words, 
while would my tutor affirm that the accent with which I 
spoke the same hid fair to possess some purity in time. 
And likewise I began to show somewhat of skill in the 


Ol!fE SMALL MAID. 


107 


handling of my foil. So also did Sir Philip improve much 
his fencing. And meanwhile the old man’s store of tales 
and incidents, and descriptions of amusing ways of most 
odd people, gave no sign of having neared its end. 

Came Parson Hayden at times to Merton Hall, and then 
would he ask me with much show of interest how I were 
coming on with my new studies; and when I would spout 
to him in the foreign tongues would an expression of dis- 
dain creep about his lips, though he no doubt did strive 
much to conceal the hatred and contempt he surely had for 
French and Spanish words. And when met my old tutor 
and my new, would the Parson be quite lavish of pleasant 
words. Yet did I note that there was in his eyes a look 
that told of keen dislike whene’er he would look upon the 
averted face of Don Jose, though were he all smiles again 
when came together the glances of the twain. Yet did the 
old soldier bear himself unto Master Hayden with much of 
courtesy and of respect, paying due heed to his remarks. 
Had I belief he entertained no liking for the Parson, 
though he in private uttered no thing to detriment of the 
man. Yet did he deem no doubt that since he had in 
measure superseded the other, ’twere well and kindly to pay 
him the amends of much seeming consideration. 

Did I still lack some months of reaching the age of six- 
teen years, when came to me the first chance of putting to 
real use my new-found knowledge of foreign language. 
One Saturday, having half holiday, went I upon a ramble, 
in the which I chanced to pass not far from Clayton Hall, 
and then had I consciousness of thirst. Was I, minded of 
the old spring at which I drank the day in which I did 
with great obedience much kiss the unhappy Lady Merry- 
weather; and going thither now I partook of the sparkling 


108 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


water. Was I about to turn away when I heard from the 
avenue of trees a child’s loud screams. Eunning in the 
direction from whence came the sounds I soon beheld a 
little maid of some five years, as I found thereafter, gazing 
with childish terror at her nurse, a stout young woman, 
who lay upon the ground, writhing in a fit. 

“Be comforted, little one,” did I say in soothing tone, 
“there is naught of danger to her life in this. Soon will 
she be herself again, albeit with much of sleepiness.” 

Looked now the small maid at me with much of vexa- 
tion in her pretty eyes, and then she said to herself, and in 
the French tongue : 

“What doth he say?” 

Then spoke I in the French the same words which I had 
vainly uttered to her in my own language. Did she now 
gaze at me, first in wonder, and then with a look of delight 
on her small face; and next cried she out: 

“Thou art good to speak words I know.” Then was her 
bright look somewhat marred by small shade of annoy- 
ance. “Yet doth poor Honore feel much pain. Oh, my 
poor nurse !” 

“Nay,” did I explain, “for have I been told that they 
who suffer from this thing are conscious of no pain. One 
of the servants at my home would be took thus often, 
yet did she never seem thereafter the worse for her fits.” 

Was the pretty child gazing at me meanwhile as if she 
had not full understanding of my words. Then I said 
that I would go to the spring and bring the large cup that 
lay there, filled with cool water for the yet writhing 
woman. At this the little one made some outcry, and in 
most winning way did supplicate me to leave her not 
there, but rather to bear her with me to the spring. Gave 


ONE SMALL MAID. 


109 


I assent to this by taking her within my arms and lifting 
her till her head rested npon my shoulder; and did her 
soft curls brush in pleasant way gainst my cheek as moved 
I toward the spring. Then when asked I of her what 
might he her name, she pursed up her small red rosebud 
of a mouth, as if she were telling that which had been 
taught to her at much pains, and said, nodding her head 
at each word: 

^^Constance Leigh.” 

Then did the dear child chatter in pleasant fashion of 
how she loved to dwell at Clayton, where her Aunt Kate 
was most kind to her, and gave her jams and other 
goodies, and had likewise made present to her of a fine 
family of dolls, to say naught of a most cunning kitten 
whom she loved dearly. When was the water brought unto 
the ailing Honore, did I find the woman beginning to 
come from out the grasp of this her sudden malady. And 
when had I bathed her face with the. cool water, and did 
move with intent to return the cup to its proper place be- 
side the spring, Constance must needs again mount to 
my shoulder, where in truth was I once more right glad to 
place her head; and went she on in same way of chatter 
about her own affairs, which though small to others were 
of large import to her. When came we again to Honore 
was she recovered, albeit she now showed signs of much 
drowsiness. By my aid was she enabled to gain her feet, 
and then taking her arm with my left hand that I might 
steady her, had I yet to spare my right hand which was 
not idle, since was it seized within the soft clasp of the 
tiny fingers of my new found friend, Constance. And 
thus did we pass up the avenue of trees until we had come 
to Clayton Hall. Then I gave over the sleepy nurse to 


110 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


one of the servants who had perceived us coming and had 
rushed out, most intent on being told the why and where- 
fore of this thing. Yet stood I hand in hand with pretty 
Mistress Leigh until came out to us the Lady Clayton, 
who spoke in most kindly fashion, albeit were she much 
affected in her manner. 

^^Well done, my good young Master of Merton,^’ did she 
say, ^^art thou in truth a credit to thy knightly sire, for 
hast thou just rescued two distressed damsels. One hast 
thou already parted with, and the which was done seem- 
ingly with much of readiness upon thy part; yet to the 
younger and the fairer of the twain dost thou still cling.^’ 

^^That do I, madam,” I made reply, with a sense of 
much redness upon my cheeks, ‘^for is she in truth a most 
dear child.” 

“Is she not so. Master Walter. See how she doth look 
up at us in wondering way, knowing not what we speak, 
for as yet kens she naught save of the French tongue, 
which I do myself speak most indifferently, yet which I 
am told thou can’st rattle off with much of readiness. 
But of Constance — is she the daughter of my cousin. Sir 
Francis Leigh, who was kinsman upon my father’s side, 
and not upon my mother’s, as was my dear Aunt, the 
Lady Merry weather. Well, did Sir Francis die while the 
little one were no more than two years old — let me think 
— were the time three years gone by. Was his wife a 
Frenchwoman, albeit a Protestant, or as they do call it a 
Huguenot ; and hath she dwelt since with her brother, the 
Count de Brecy, at his chateau in Picardy. Had there 
been much distemper among the young about them, and 
did the Lady Leigh, herself then nigh bed-ridden, send to 
us small Constance by one kind kinsman who was jour- 


OM SMALL MAID, 


111 


neying to London. Eight glad was I to see her, though 
sent they the child with this nnrse, whom it seems hath 
the way of falling into fits. But thon shalt come some day 
soon and he entertained of fair Mistress Leigh, wilt thou 
not 

‘^By thy leave, madam, that will I most gladly do,’^ 
made I reply in eager way. 

^^And now at parting, Walter, shalt thou kiss the little 
lady.^^ 

Whereat I sank down upon my knees, and folding Con- 
stance in my arms, gave I her a kiss, which did she return 
in all readiness. At this my Lady Clayton clapped her 
hands, and with merry laugh, she said : 

^‘^Twas well done, Walter, and it doth bespeak the 
truth that at the proper age thou wilt hear thyself unto 
our sex in right gallant way, as it shall become thee to do. 
And yet, alack, when my dear aunt, the Lady Merry- 
weather, did offer thee her most ripe lips you made dis- 
play of not that same willingness and fervor which hath 
my small kinswoman just now aroused in thee.^’ 

When after rising to my feet and taking leave of my 
Lady in way of much respect, I had started down the 
avenue of trees, I glanced over my shoulder. Then saw I 
the little maid gazing after me, though did her aunt who 
had already started for her door, seem to be bidding her 
to follow. Waved I my hand to Constance, and extended 
she her two arms toward me. Went I hack to Merton 
Hall filled to the full with gentle thoughts of this little 
maid, upon whom had it been my happiness to chance. In 
the evening of that same day, when I had come into the 
library of Sir Philip, at his direction, that I might listen 
with him to further recital of incidents in the life of far- 


112 


SIR WALTER OP KENT. 


wandering and much-perceiving Don Jose, could I not 
even then keep thoughts away from what had that after- 
noon befallen me. And in truth did now appear such 
expression in my countenance as to call upon me the at- 
tention of my sire, who then put questions to me touching 
what had that day occurred. As made I to him truthful 
account of my chance visit to Clayton, gave he ear with 
much of interest in his look, into which there did more 
than once creep a smile. And when came my recital to an 
end, he said : 

^‘Art thou to be forever the sport of the other sex, 
Walter? Thou didst walk with open eyes into the snares 
which fair young Mistress de Wycherly spread for thee. 
And now when thy wounds of heart he well healed dost 
thou offer this same unto one small woman of five years, 
that she may do by it as she will.^^ 

^‘Truth to tell, sir,” I made hold now to declare, ‘^am I 
most surely of the firm belief that Constance Leigh will 
never in her whole life cause wounds unto my feelings.” 

^^Nay, Walter,” did he say with shake of head, “thou 
canst not tell surely at first meeting with persons how 
thou shalt afterwards be treated of them. Hast forgotten 
how at first Maud did hear herself toward thee?” Then 
turning to Don J ose went he on : “When yields he to the 
magic of her glance, what perfect faith the lover doth 
repose in his bright mistress, though too many times is 
there naught to give warrant for the same.” 

Then did Sir Philip seem to note that there was a look 
of pain upon the face of the old follower of Fortune. And 
would he no doubt have strove to turn the subject from 
the one of love, had not Don Jose said: 

“Dost thou indeed speak truth. Sir Philip.” Then sigh- 


ONE SMALL MAID. 


113 


ing deeply went he on thus : “Have I of a verity felt this 
night an old wound reopen in my breast. And came this 
thing to pass from certain words spoken by good Master 
Walter. Did he mention the name of de Brecy, which I 
myself was at pains to speak not at the time I told thee 
of the Eve of St. Bartholomew. ^Twere in truth the 
father of the present Count, and himself with all the 
family as well, whom I did warn and then guard as hid 
they in their loft through the period of great peril to them 
all. When saw I them thereafter at their home in Picardy, 
was my heart sore smitten by the elder daughter of their 
house. Yet might she not become my own. This saw I 
all too plainly. I overheard by merest chance the lady 
as she made hint of this same, and as well found much 
fault with my poor looks. Of these did she to my great 
pain make light, saying things the which would she have 
never uttered had she but dreamed of their coming unto 
my ears. ^Twas the youngest of the sisters who in time 
became the bride of Sir Francis Leigh, and then his 
widow.” 

Have I no doubt my sire was casting about for soothing 
words to offer unto Don Jose, when it came into my mind 
that but for this soldier might Constance Leigh have 
never been. And then without a moments pause to 
weigh how might my conduct seem unto my elders, I 
sprang up and seizing both hands of him whom had I in 
most sudden way come to look upon in light of benefac- 
tor, I exclaimed: 

“How may I give full thanks to thee, my much re- 
spected friend, for that thou, in saving from the hands 
of the destroyers her who became the Lady Leigh, didst 
at same time save to me sweet Constance !” 

8 


114 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Whereat did Sir Philip and Don Jose as well gaze at me 
in much wonder for a moment, and then exchanging 
glances they both smiled; while I myself, now perceiving 
that ’twould have been well had I thought this same thing 
without naming it unto my elders, made manifest the 
great confusion which I truly felt. My sire, still with 
smile upon his face, shook his head, and said in pleasant 
tone : 

^‘^Do I commend thee, Walter, for thy frankness, albeit 
^twere right for thee to learn to curb that same tongue of 
thine, lest by giving expression to thy thoughts in much 
too hasty way, it might lead thee into needless troubles, 
and hold thee up to the derision of they who might fail 
to weigh thine honesty of purpose.^^ 

Yet did the oddness of this my youthful outburst seem 
to slowly grow upon my tutor, till at last he sank back- 
ward in his chair and laughed softly to himself. When 
had this inclination passed from him, he wiped his eyes, 
and first looking at me in most kindly way, he turned to 
my sire and said: 

^^Though hath our Walter touched by mere chance my 
old and unhealed wound, yet hath he charmed away the 
pain by arousing within me somewhat of mirth.” Then 
turning once more toward his pupil: ^^Yet would I not, 
my Walter for the world strive to cast ridicule upon thee 
for that thou hast had the manliness to thus give expres- 
sion to thy admiration for a small maid, who no doubt 
doth well deserve the same.” 

Within a week did I answer summons of the Lady Clay- 
ton to go and he entertained of her youthful guest. Yet 
gave not this time Jane Edmunds much care unto my 
apparel, not being minded to great furbishing and making 


ONE SMALL MAID. 


115 


over, since to her present eyes were a brushing and one 
slight pressing with hot iron sufficient for the purpose. 
JvTor did she look with much of favor upon my visit to 
Clayton Hall, and touching the matter she spoke thus : 

“Say others beside thee, Walter, that the little one from 
France is fair indeed and of pleasant ways for her small 
age, yet have I in truth more than once known the beauty 
of such a child to turn to ugliness ere had she grown to 
womanhood. Likewise have I known tempers to sour, 
mayhap from their own excess of sweetness, twixt child- 
hood and full growth. And was this poor child’s father 
well nigh penniless when was he cut off by fever in a way 
most sudden.” 

This time did I not ride forth from Merton on the hack 
of old Dick, since had Sir Philip kindly loaned to me his 
black hunter. And when came I to Clayton, was there 
none to laugh at either the appearance of my mount or 
at myself. Yet was there in waiting pretty Constance, 
who clapped her small hands with joy at sight of me. 
Gave she to me in truth warm welcome, and did she show 
to me her dolls, and living pets. Then took me by the 
hand this sweet young maid, and led me to the places and 
the nooks which had the most her favor. And chatted 
she meanwhile in voice most soft and musical, while I 
finding these same sounds much to my liking, was pleased 
to listen to them, and little heeded the many words she 
uttered. When came her nurse Honore to summon us 
into the presence of kind Lady Clayton, she said to me 
that was there prepared already a feast at which we two 
alone might sit. And after my Lady had received me, 
and in arch way had rallied me touching my great regard 
for the little Constance, she caused to be brought in to us 


116 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


a low table covered with good things. At this sat my 
small hostess and myself, and while she enjoyed the 
goodies such as were to her yonng taste, I strove to keep 
her company in this way, albeit with somewhat of effort, 
since were I too happy then to find anght of pleasure in 
the act of eating. Meanwhile my larger hostess did gossip 
much. Went I away from Clayton this time with yet 
dearer thoughts of my fair little friend, than when did I 
first beheld her. And within a fortnight came I again 
upon a happy visit to Clayton. 

Some little time thereafter, was the enchanting child 
brought to Merton in the care of stout Honore. And no 
sooner had this nurse given her precious charge into my 
hands, than went she off into a fit. I left the poor woman 
in the care of Jane Edmunds, who made profession of 
much horror at sight of the writhing form, yet knowing 
the passing nature of the malady was no doubt most anx- 
ious to bring about a quick return to consciousness, in 
hope there yet might be some time for gossip twixt them. 
Was Constance now alarmed much less for her poor nurse 
than had she been when was the woman stricken upon the 
avenue of Clayton. Did I lead the little one unto Sir 
Philip in his library, and was he taken much by her child- 
ish beauty and grace, and as well by her manner and her 
words, spoken as were these in her soft, sweet voice. 
Strove my sire to amuse her with his talk, of which had 
I the pleasure to be interpreter. While was he thus 
engaged came there in to us Don Jose, who started at 
sight of young Mistress Leigh, and did tremble much, 
since was he minded of a likeness which there was, at least 
in his own mind between Constance and her loved aunt. 
Yet so pleased was he in truth by the charm of our bright 


OIJE SMALL MAID. 


117 


guest, that he soon seemed to he again at ease. And did 
he beg of her the boon of one small kiss, the which she 
granted, albeit showing not much of fervor. Then moved 
she to myself and taking my hand leaned against me, 
looking shyly around. 

Once more went I to Clayton Hall, and was received by 
my kind Constance as before. Yet when, one week there- 
after did I go thither yet again, met I with disappoint- 
ment sore. As rode I up before the porch and leaped from 
olf my sire’s hunter, came there no Constance forth to 
greet me. The groom that took the horse wore on his face 
a smile of some amusement, while did the servant who 
gave me entrance at the door look at me in half-pitying 
way, as he said that Lady Clayton would have speech with 
me concerning the departure of her small guest on the 
day gone by. With sense of gloom I sat me down; and 
did I not heed the truth that I were kept waiting nigh to 
a full hour ere Clayton’s mistress came to me. 

^^Thou poor Walter,” did she exclaim, assuming look of 
much pity, albeit sure I am she felt not this. “Came yes- 
terday that same kinsman of our little one who brought 
her hither, to fetch her unto her mother at the chateau 
of the Count de Brecy in Picardy. Had my Lady Leigh 
sent to this gentleman a message saying were the sickness 
round about them abated much, and that she were greatly 
minded to have her daughter with her again. Did Con- 
stance plead with all her little might, and with many tears 
as well, that it should he permitted her to take farewell 
of thee ere she went. Yet to her prayers this kinsman 
gave no ear, since was he in most eager haste to get back 
to his own land upon some pressing matter. Alack, dear 
Walter, am I indeed most sorrowful for thee. Wilt thou 


118 


^IR WALTER OF KENT. 


not soothe thyself and he^uile the time with some of our 
hooks.’^ 

^^May it please thee, madam,” made I reply, ^^care I 
now in truth for no such things, though were these the 
finest in the world.” 

And sad at heart was I for many days, though did Don 
Jose strive to drive away from me unhappy thoughts by 
pointing out that there was yet much of bright hope for 
me. As in my hours of freedom roamed I o'er the hills, 
were my thoughts on Constance bent, and would I mur- 
mur of her to the things of nature. Saw I her face among 
the trees abroad, and upon the walls at home. And in 
the night would I oft gaze out upon the shining stars 
that did look as well upon the roof which sheltered her, 
though she lay far-off among the hills of Picardy. ^ 


XI. 


THE GOOD KNIGHT. 

Had I noted that, whene’er it chanced through illness 
or some other weighty cause my sire went not upon a 
Sunday morn to worship God at Merton Church, hut sent 
his son and heir in his stead. Parson Hayden in his dis- 
course poured out the vials of his wrath upon all they 
who yet adhered unto Pome’s errors. And would he like- 
wise say that there were knaves of that faith who went 
about, seeking the young and heedless with intent of lead- 
ing in the end such poor lamhs unto the shambles of 
Satan. Yet when went Sir Philip in person to public 
worship, would the discourse contain naught touching this 
same matter. Hid I deem it not wrong to impart unto 
Don Jose what had been in dim way directed at himself 
by Master Hayden. Whereat my tutor laughed softly and 
said : 

‘^Let this good man rest easy concerning thee, my Wal- 
ter; for since thou hast been committed to me on condi- 
tion that I tamper not with thy faith, shall I not strive 
to save thy soul so long as would thy sire have it damned 
in proper way.” 

Did Don Jose never enter in at Merton Church, though 
would he not have deemed such act of his as deadly sin. 
Rather was it that he knew full well there were some 
most bitter gainst his faith, who would view his coming 

119 


120 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


in their midst in light of bold and wrong intrusion. So 
would he go upon a Sunday morn over to Hillgate; and 
was it rumored wide that he would there in company with 
his kinswoman and her Papist husband, Sir Harry Bul- 
lard, bow down before their idols and hatch evil plots 
against the True Eeligion. Yet did I by his skilled aid 
and guidance much improve in use and knowledge of the 
French and Spanish tongues, and in the fencing art as 
w^ell, until the early winter following the celebration of 
my seventeenth birthday. Then Sir Philip made remark 
that it were high time I gave again some hours of each 
day unto the ancient tongues, and to the other studies, 
the which had the Parson and I been wont in truth to 
puzzle over. Yet came not this thing to pass, though 
were Master Hayden already looking forward to his re- 
gaining in some part his sway o’er Merton’s heir. For fell 
there then upon me in large measure, and upon the whole 
country roundabout in smaller way, a right grievous blow. 

One night came there a sharp, black frost upon the 
land; and next day o’er the pools was there a coat of ice, 
on which might one in some places safely walk. So did 
I contrive to gain an hour’s respite from my lessons; and 
was each minute of the same spent in swift slides upon 
the dark, smooth surface of our horse-pond. And an hour 
past the noon went forth Sir Philip on his black hunter, 
no doubt that he and the horse as well might profit from 
a ride of more than wonted briskness through the frosty 
air. Chanced he to take the road that led by the brook 
at the point where it widened out into a pool of some depth. 
Above and below this ran the chill waters swiftly and free 
from ice; yet on the pool was there a sheet of much seem- 
ing thickness. And hard by dwelt in her small cottage old 


TEE GOOD KNIGHT. 


121 


Gammer Day and her tall and red-haired daughter, who 
did at odd times labor in the field that she might gain the 
bread for both. That day Gammer called to mind that 
beyond the brook was there much broken and well- 
seasoned wood beneath a large old tree, now well nigh 
dead. And, that she might save herself full many steps 
which would it have cost her to go round by way of an 
old and tottering bridge a long way down stream, made 
she bold to cross the ice. Soon did she reach the farther 
bank in safety, and gathered for herself much wood, the 
which she bound up in one large bundle. This she bore 
upon her shoulders. Yet when she came to cross the ice 
in her return strayed she from off the path which before 
had she took; and she chanced when near the middle of 
the pool to come upon a spot of some weakness, mayhap 
by reason of the current’s swiftness at that point. What- 
ever the true cause of this might be, did the ice break 
beneath her feet, plunging her into the water, where had 
she power to do little more than cry for help in tones that 
bespoke her great terror. Just then, as chance would 
have it, came along Sir Philip, who perceiving her sad 
plight, leaped from his horse and ran to her aid. Was 
she by this time clinging to the edge of the ragged ice, 
where had this same given way; yet did the current 
threaten much to force her to yield up her grasp and 
to sweep her far in under the white sheet. When my 
sire came up to her, he grasped her hand and would 
have plucked her from out her place of danger on the in- 
stant, but that the ice upon which he stood likewise gave 
way. And was he himself thrown into the much chilled 
waters, which he found in truth to be beyond his depth. 
Yet when the ice gave way beneath him fell there also 


122 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


into the water Gammer’s bundle of wood that she had 
thrown forward from her when sank her footing out of 
sight. And now Sir Philip made quick use of this same 
bundle^ for upon it he rolled the half-drowned woman, 
and then swimming contrived he to push the wood against 
the ice where was its broken edge the strongest. Urging 
on Gammer he caused her to crawl out upon the sound 
ice; and then he in turn, climbing upon the bundle of 
wood, followed her from out the water. 

Was she now well nigh perished from what had she 
already undergone. Then did my sire lift her in his arms 
and bear her to her cottage, where he laid her beside her 
hearth, on which burned there but small fire. Was he 
giving unto this same, large increase, by piling upon the 
flame such wood as he could find about the place, when 
came there in the tall daughter, who straightway relieved 
him of his charge. Then flew Sir Philip to his hunter, 
which bore him swiftly to the Hall. Meanwhile did my 
sire move much his limbs for sake of warmth, albeit were 
his garments frozen stiff. When had he shifted these for 
others that were dry and thick, he strove to warm him- 
self within by drinking spirits and water that smoked 
from heat. Swallowed he, though with somewhat of wry- 
ness in his face, a mixture that was brought to him by 
Jane Edmunds, who vowed that this same thing, which 
was in truth of her own contrivance and compounding, 
had saved lives. When it were even did he sit close before 
the blaze in his library with his son nigh him, and listened 
with much show of interest unto Hon Jose, who told us of 
a town’s siege where had he daily mounted to the walls 
for three long months, and fought gainst a most stub- 
born foe. Do I now vainly strive to recall the name of 


THE GOOD KNIGHT. 


123 


that town. Mayhap the reason of my forgetfulness of 
this thing is that the soldier spoke to us then little of 
feats of armSj since the burden of his recital was upon 
the odd and comic side of life within the beleaguered 
town. And did he cause my sire to smile, and myself to 
laugh as loudly as I deemed it meet to do, as told he of 
queer ways and words of certain of the citizens, whom it 
was then his pleasure and duty to defend. In truth were 
the most amusing of this old man’s tales those in which 
he brought out certain points of human nature. When 
had my tutor come to end of this recital did Sir Philip 
close hug himself with his own arms and say : 

“Did thy amusing words keep me in truth, Don Jose, 
from the thought of my great coldness. Doth it seem as 
though I might never send through my frame glow of 
real warmth.” 

As I withdrew myself from these my elders heard I 
this old follower of Fortune urging upon my sire to take 
more of well-heated water and spirits, which in truth did 
he not seem minded to do. On the morrow my father 
arose with but slight cough, yet was his face most wan 
and pinched of aspect. Came he into our lesson-room 
while were my tutor and myself at it with the foils. When 
Don Jose asked of him if he had yet shaken off his cold- 
ness, declared he that not only in his breast, but as well 
in every corner of his frame, was there a feeling of much 
soreness. Whereat the old man’s face wore anxious look. 
And when soon Sir Philip did remark of coldness in the 
room, and left us, Don Jose paced the floor for some 
moments, shaking much his head meanwhile. Then in 
sudden manner turning unto me, he laid hand upon my 
shoulder, and said; 


124 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


^^Thy sire hath truly need of physician, or of some one 
far more skilled in medicines than I, or for the matter 
poor Jane Edmunds. And ^tis now full twelve miles from 
hence to the nearest one of repute tvho doth practice heal- 
ing arts. Is his name Eundle, and dwells he hard by the 
Church of Hillsbury. Will I go seek him upon Sir Philip’s 
swift horse.” 

Whereat leaving me in state of much worriment touch- 
ing my sire’s condition, limped he quickly from the room. 
And seemed it to me scarce a moment thereafter when I 
beheld our friend riding down the avenue at quick canter 
upon the black hunter’s back. Soon tired I of looking out 
upon the frozen earth, and then did I strive to write out 
in the French the incident which had my tutor narrated 
to us the night before. Yet would my thoughts most 
sadly wander from the task. At length I heard the door 
open, and looking up I beheld Sir Philip, who said to me : 

“Walter, so soon as are the lecsons at end, take thou the 
hunter and ride over to the home of Gammer Day, and 
learn how she doth after her great exposure of yesterday. 
Will the ride in truth be good for thee and the horse as 
well. Yet where is Don Jose — saw I not and spoke with 
him when I were here last ?” 

“But a short time since, sir,” I made reply, “he took 
the hunter and rode toward Hillsbury.” 

“Then thou canst go to Gammer upon old Dick, unless 
it should chance thou art in the humor to take a ramble 
upon your own feet.” 

“May it please thee, sir, am I the more minded to gain 
warm glow by hastening on foot.” 

“Then be it so, Walter. ISTow,” making with his fingers 
light taps upon his head, “are my feelings of most strange 


THE GOOD KNIGHT. 


125 


fashion this morn. Yet thou didst say our old soldier 
hath ridden toward Hillsbury. Said he why he went 
thither?’^ 

‘‘^Did he go, sir, with intent to fetch hither Doctor 
Kundle.^^ 

Gazed Sir Philip at me in wondering way for full a 
moment, and then he said : 

^^So he doth deem that I need aid from this same physi- 
cian. Yet am I full certain he hath put himself to much 
pains from baseless fear.^^ Then after he had stood with 
most grave mien for a moment placed he his hand in 
gentle way upon my shoulder, and looking full into my 
eyes, went he on thus: ^‘Yet, my Walter, if it should 
come to pass that God in his wisdom shall see fit to take 
me hence, fail thou not to hold in mind thy duties in this 
life, as have I taught these same to thee.” 

Whereat did tears spring into my eyes; and I begged 
of him in broken words, since was I in truth much moved, 
that he should not think of leaving this bright world for 
many years yet. Then in soothing tone he said : 

^‘There, there, my son, have I spoken touching this 
same matter only that when shall be fulfilled the number 
of my days, thou wilt remember this which have I Just 
now spoken. There, there, hasten thou to old Gammer 
Day.” 

At this I left him to do as had he bidden me. When 
had I came to the woman’s cottage, I found her lying 
well wrapped up before her fire, while was the red-haired 
daughter shaping dough into small cakes for the baking. 
Did Gammer in truth overwhelm me with much utter- 
ance of blessings upon my sire for that he had succored 
her in time of great peril. She bid me tell him that she 


126 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


were in fair way of gaining riddance of the ill effects of 
her exposure. When had she asked if he showed aught 
of ailment through his ducking in the most chilly brook, 
and I had said that he spoke of a soreness throughout his 
frame, the Grammar vowed that she would pray from morn 
until the even for the full recovery of our true Knight of 
Merton. When had I borne her message, and named the 
things she spoke, unto Sir Philip, did he smile and say : 

^^Of a truth do such as she much magnify all that is 
done for them, as well as all that which may be wrought 
to their detriment. Yet do they recite these blessings 
and these wrongs just as they behold the same in their 
own minds.^^ Became he more husky, as he said: ^^Grow 
I v/eak from some cause, my Walter; and am I minded to 
have rest of body. And though it be yet early in the day 
will I go now to my couch. Shalt thou come with me, 
and be for the nonce my lackey.” 

At this I grasped his arm and led him slowly to his 
chamber, where was a fire already kindled upon the hearth. 
When had I come to end of undressing him and had half 
lifted him upon his couch, did I tuck the clothing with 
much of care about him. Then I asked of him if he would 
like aught to drink, and did I call to his mind that there 
stood in his library a bottle yet half filled with the wine 
of the sort for which had he the most of liking. When 
had I made mention of this, did he nod his head. Then 
went I and fetched the bottle I had named, and with the 
same a glass. When had I come again into his chamber 
I poured out for him of this, and having propped him up 
upon his pillows, I placed in his hands the glass. Held 
he this for a moment, marking the redness of the wine, 
and then did he drain it. When had I taken from him 


TEE GOOD KNIGHT. 


127 


the glass and had smoothed into their place the pillows, 
sank his head once more upon the same. And now I asked 
of him if he were minded that I should remain nigh him 
in readiness for such service as might he stand in need of. 
Made he reply : 

‘^^N’ay, my Walter, will I have no cause to call upon thee. 
And shall I the better rest alone.'’^ 

Whereat I left the glass and bottle upon his table, and 
with light step passed from the room. Just as I in soft 
way began to close the door, glanced I back into the cham- 
ber. Then did I mark a look of much peacefulness upon 
my father’s face. Had there some hours gone slowly by 
when came Don Jose at a gallop along the avenue, and 
by his side rode Doctor Eundle, a short and stout young 
man, who held beneath his flapping cloak a small chest of 
his own medicines. When had I told to them how Sir 
Philip had at his wish, and by my aid, been put to bed 
some hours gone by. Doctor Eundle shook his head in 
grave way, while my tutor put on an anxious look. Held 
I their horses for a moment till came up Joe, who as he 
took the bridles with a tremble on his old hands asked of 
me if the Knight of Merton were in truth so ill that he 
must have apothecary brought to him from such distance. 
Put I this old servant off with answer of evading kind, 
since did he in truth love well his master. Had there now 
come upon me much fear that was my sire’s life in grave 
peril from his ailment. When came I within doors and 
had begun to mount the stairway leading to my sire’s 
chamber, on my ear there fell the voice of J ane Edmunds, 
who spoke in lamentations that sent a chill unto my heart. 
Cried she out: 

Alack, alack, what have we lost! Shall we in truth 


128 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


ne’er look to see so good a Knight again! How will this 
blow fall upon my poor Walter!” 

Then after pause of one long moment, did I move with 
much swiftness till I came upon Jane standing without 
the opened door, through the which had I last seen my 
sire with peaceful look upon his face. Had her lament 
been made to Don Jose, who stood within the door. Were 
there tears in the eyes of this old soldier, who glanced at 
me in most pitying way, at same time speaking soothing 
words to the woman. Did Doctor Bundle stand by the 
couch on which I now saw my father’s face, far whiter 
than had it ever looked before. Had he in truth died in 
painless way, no doubt within an hour after I, at his com- 
mand, had from him withdrawn. And was there a smile 
upon his lips. Then burst I forth in many tears, albeit 
then having imperfect knowledge of the loss that had 
befallen me. Did Don Jose next take me by the arm, and 
whispering in my ear praises of the departed one, led he 
myself into my chamber. Here strove he long to soothe 
me, and did he at last cause my flow of tears to cease. 

Was there grief for miles on every side of Merton Hall; 
and many were the tales told of his kindly words and 
gentle acts toward lowly ones. Did poor Gammer Day 
long lament that the saving of her own life had caused 
the taking off of so brave and so true a Knight. 

Upon the third day after the death of my loved sire, 
held we his funeral at Merton Church. And came there 
to mourn him all his lowly friends with tears upon their 
cheeks. Likewise did there come from far as well as near 
his fellow-gentlefolk, who held him in great respect, albeit 
they had pitied much his poverty and had bemoaned his 
holding so aloof from those of his own kind. And Parson 


THE GOOD KNIGHT. 


129 


Hayden for the once seemed in some measure to forget 
that before him sat they whose favor he dearly loved. 
Was there sadness in his face and a tremble in his voice 
while told he of the virtues of the good Knight who had 
gone to his reward. When bore they out my sire’s coffin 
to the grave among the tombs of full many of my rkce, 
did we follow it, all in sorrow. Then they placed him next 
to his young wife. 

Did it in the course of time come to pass, as in truth it 
rightly should, that Sir Philip’s good deeds were noised 
abroad. And years thereafter came strangers to Merton 
church-yard, and asked where the Good Knight lay. 

9 


130 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


XII. 

LEGACIES. 

In the even after the funeral came Don Jose to me in 
my chamber, and said that next to the loss of his friend 
and patron, did it most grieve him to reflect that he and 
his dear pupil were now to part with small chance of 
further meetings. Since was there yet much of debt upon 
the estates of Merton was he full sure that the Courts of 
Law would place this same in other hands for a period. 
And had my sire once said to him that he were minded 
to name in his last will and testament as the flt and proper 
guardian of his son and heir a distant kinsman of his 
own, by name Sir Francis Wynnington, of Bidwell in the 
County of Surrey, in whom did he repose his confldence. 
Had there been in years gone by some transaction twixt 
Sir Philip and Sir Francis, wherein had my sire found his 
kinsman to be in truth a man of honor, and withal one 
who had much respect for his own conscience. And did 
Don Jose deem it as most like that I would he sent to 
dwell at Bidwell Hall until such a time as I should chance 
to come into mine own. When had he made clear to me 
his belief touching this matter, passed there throughout 
my frame a pleasing thrill; for was there in me a strong 
wish to see more of this world that lay about me, albeit 
was my love for Merton yet strong. Then the soldier per- 
ceived what was passing within my mind, and clapped he 


LEGACIES,' 


131 


myself upon the shoulder in pleasant way. With a laugh 
he now said : 

“Art thou, my Walter, like every lad of spirit who hath 
been, is, or shall be, filled with joy at thought of departure 
from thy childhood’s home. And was I in truth the self 
same way, though for the matter I waited not for my own 
sire’s death, hut ran away in secret fashion, being incited 
thereto by scent of battle, which was wafted to my eager 
nostrils from afar.” Then paused he for a moment, and 
did his face grow of a grave aspect as with a sigh went he 
on thus: ^^Yet were there certain times ere had I come 
to full manhood, when I would have most gladly seen 
again my father’s house, though would I from pride have 
made denial of this weakness.” 

On the morrow, while were Don Jose and myself having 
what in truth proved to he our last lesson with foils, came 
there in to us a servant, who said that Parson Hayden, 
with Sir Edward Bailey and Squire Harper, had wish to 
speak with me touching a matter of some importance. 
Whereat there walked into the room the three gentlemen, 
each of whom did in pleasant manner nod to myself. 
Then I saw the Parson glance at Don Jose in way which 
seemed to bespeak some joy at thought that the old Papist 
would now lose his pleasant home at Merton Hall, and 
the dominion over his pupil as well. Was the Knight a 
small man with fierce black eyes and a sharp nose, while 
was the Squire tall and portly with full red cheeks, yet 
with small features. Did the latter glance at Don Jose 
with naught of favor in his look, while Sir Edward 
scowled in angry way at the old soldier. And when he in 
courteous fashion bowed to the twain, made they no 
acknowledgment of this. Perceiving that were they 


132 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


minded to look upon him in the way of what he deemed 
unjust contempt, there crept into the old man’s face a 
haughty look, such as had I never noted there afore. 
Then came nigh to me Master Hayden in way of respect 
to which had I in truth not been used, and rubbing well 
his hands, he said: 

^^Have these good gentlemen. Sir Edward and Squire 
Harper,” bowing to each one as made he mention of his 
name, ^Vhom as dost thou know were honored friends of 
thy dear departed sire, come hither, honoring me mean- 
while with their company, that they might look at the 
will and testament of Sir Philip, with view to aiding thee 
by having that same thing disposed of with all due regard 
to process of the Law.” 

Bowing to the Knight and Squire, made I some expres- 
sion of thankful sort; and did I next turn to Don Jose 
and ask of him if he had knowledge of where this same 
writing had been placed by Sir Philip. Whereat, and 
before the soldier had the time in which to make reply. 
Sir Edward, frowning, said to him in harsh tones : 

^Tf thou hast in thy possession this same instrument, 
and do not straightway yield it up, or if thou hast for 
purpose of thine own made alteration of aught therein, 
then shall we make appeal to the just Laws of England 
to have thee repaid ” 

’Sblood, man !” did Don J ose exclaim in way of inter- 
ruption, his face pallid from his wrath. “Have I no knowl- 
edge of where that same writing may be found, and of a 
verity have I not laid eyes upon such. Yet will I say that 
in putting question to me in such way thou hast done to 
me injustice.” 

Now did he grasp foil with tighter hand, and return 


LEGACIES. 


133 


with interest Sir Edward’s scowl. And grew the face of 
Parson Hayden white, since he no doubt had now some 
fear of violence in his presence. Then in tone which had 
some of whining in it, he said to the soldier: 

^^Nay, nay, Don Jose, thou art wrong to speak thus, 
since has good Sir Edward spoken in this way hut from 
excess of zeal for the rights and interests of our dear 
friend Walter.” 

^Tn truth,” did Sir Edward now say, ^Vas I incited in 
the way that our reverend friend hath named.” 

^^Then,” said the Parson, ^Vill we now go and search 
for the testament in the library.” 

Whereat he left the room in company with Sir Edward 
and Squire Harper, who had been gazing with stupid 
wonder at him who had dared in such way to address his 
friend and neighbor. Was I about to follow them, when 
Don Jose placed his hand upon my shoulder, and said: 

^^Shall I now take my farewell of thee, good friend. 
Have we had many pleasant hours with one another. Art 
thou of the sort which pleaseth me; and I do love thee as 
did I thy dear sire. And in verity do I wish thee, Walter, 
all of happiness and true success through life.” At this 
did he seize me in his arms and give to me most warm 
embrace. 

^^Yet, Don Jose,” I urged, ^Vhy shouldst thou leave 
me in such hasty manner ? Why not tarry yet a while ?” 

^^’Sdeath!” he exclaimed with angry glance toward 
the door through which had Sir Edward gone away. 
‘“^Though am I true follower of him they call the bloody 
Pope, yet would I not spill gore of Protestant this day! 
Farewell, my boy.” 

With that went the old soldier straight unto his apart- 


134 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


ment, while bent I my steps toward the library. As came 
I in to my sire’s friends, made they discovery of his last 
will, which was within a drawer set beneath a table. Then 
did the Parson open out the piece of parchment and 
look in learned way upon the same. Did neither of the 
others seem minded to glance at the testament save in 
curious way. Wisely left they the task of reading this 
same to Master Hayden, since were they themselves indif- 
ferent in way of learning. 

Hn the name of God, amen,” began the Parson, reading 
slowly from the instrument ; and pausing many times that 
he might make sure of words before giving utterance to the 
same. ^^To my only son and heir, Walter, who is by right 
of entail owner of the estates of Merton, subject to certain 
debts outstanding upon and against these same, do I be- 
queath such sums of money as I shall die possessed of, and 
all of my effects, save such as are hereinafter named. 
And are these latter things bequeathed, each to the person 
named as right receiver of the same. To Jane Edmunds, 
for some time the housekeeper at Merton Hall, I leave 
the wheel on which hath she spun with much of skill, 
together with the large chest of drawers in which kept 
she with so much of neatness the linen. To Joe Higgs, 
my old and faithful servant, I leave the gardener’s tools, 
which hath he long used well, together with my second- 
best saddle and harness, and likewise the old horse Dick, 
should this faithful beast be yet alive. To my friend, 
Don Jose de Madura, I leave ” 

Here did the Parson pause, as if to make out some 
word; and took Sir Edward advantage of this to say, as if 
unto himself, yet loud enough to reach my ears : 

^^Knew I right well that this same fellow was in for an 


LEGACIES. 


135 


inheritance, for the which may he have used sorcery, or 
mayhap forgery/’ 

^‘1 leave, went on he who read the testament, ^^as token 
of my gratitude for his great kindness to my son, the old 
Missal which hath been in Merton Hall since before the 
Eighth Henry sent defiance unto Eome.” 

“Humph,” did Sir Edward mutter in way that seemed 
to betoken somewhat of disappointment that this same 
legacy was one of such small value. “Hath the Spaniard 
contrived to have this very thing bequeathed to him that 
he, may use the same for evil purpose, mayhap for sorcery 
directed gainst they of our faith. Should this Popish 
thing have been burned long since.” 

In the items of the will that then followed. Sir Philip 
did bequeath unto his servants and others many of his 
effects which had in truth small value, save that they 
were reminders of him who gave them. And, as had Don 
Jose gave intimation, was named as my guardian, and 
also to administer the provisions of the will. Sir Francis 
Wynnington of Bidwell in the County of Surrey. In way 
of some importance did Sir Edward take the parchment 
from the Parson, saying that he would see to it that this 
same was conveyed, with as much of speed as were right 
and fitting, to Sir Francis Wynnington, to the end that he 
might at once have the instrument proven with due regard 
to Law. When had I given thanks to them for their kindly 
efforts in my behalf, my sire’s friends departed. Found I 
that had Don Jose packed up in the old box his few 
effects, and had left Merton Hall. Some hours thereafter 
came two stout fellows, who dwelt near Hillgate, and who 
bore away this same box. On the morrow had I the wish 
to again see my old tutor, and rode I over to Hillgate. 


136 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Did I find at home Sir Harry Bullard, who first gave 
expression of much sorrow at my sire’s death, and then 
told me that I had come too late to see my friend, since 
had he taken his departure at daybreak, being minded to 
journey unto the castle of an old companion at arms in 
Portugal. Might it in truth be many months ere he 
should chance to come this way again. I made mention 
to him of the small bequest to Don Jose. Whereat Sir 
Harry assured me that the old man would most truly put 
high value on this, or aught else which might Sir Philip 
have bequeathed to him in way of remembrance. And 
said he as well that he would strive to inform him of this 
thing. 

On the eighth day thereafter came Sir Francis Wyn- 
nington to Merton Hall. Was this Knight a tall, fair man 
with large beard and small hands. Wore he fine apparel, 
and was he of look proud, and as well thoughtful. I 
thereafter found him to be a man who could not with 
full intent wrong any one; and in truth was there about 
his eye that which plainly bespoke this same thing. Did 
he shake his head in most grave way when had he looked 
over the papers and accounts touching the indebtedness 
on the estates of Merton. Then for weeks came there nigh 
to every day some one in regard to the settlement of our 
affairs. Were there men of Law, some sleek of appearance 
and well brushed as to their apparel, while had others a 
most rusty look. For the most part had they clients who 
urged claims upon poor Merton, and were they well armed 
with writs. The ending of this all were that ’twas agreed 
their clients should have Merton Hall, to let unto a cer- 
tain merchant of wealth for some years, and as well the 
rents of the estates until I should be of full age. And 


LEGACIES. 


137 


meanwhile from out these rents were to be paid each year 
to my guardian, Sir Francis, for my own maintenance the 
sum of sixty guineas ; and was I to dwell with that Knight 
at Bidwell Hall. 

When were this made known to the Parson did he come 
and assure me that Fortune was most kind in thus send- 
ing me to remain beneath the roof of such a gentleman, 
whose noble ways ^twould he in my power to close study 
and strive to copy. Had Master Hayden been at much 
pains to gain the favor of Sir Francis by acts of humility 
toward him and by offers of flattery. Did my kinsman 
accept all this as his full due ; and for a time seemed he to 
find somewhat of pleasure in the same. Yet the Parson 
came so often unto the Knight to such end, that seemed 
the latter at length to sicken of this thing; and wore he 
face like one who has had surfeit of sweets whene’er came 
this his courtier into his presence. Showed Jane Ed- 
munds great respect toward Sir Francis, yet with more of 
reason in this same. And was it by his interest that she 
gained the place of housekeeper at Springwell Hall in 
Sussex. And there dwelt she in contentment for full a 
score of years thereafter. Wept the good soul when she 
parted with me one frosty morn. Then mounted upon a 
poor hack, our hunter having fallen into the hands of the 
men of Law, did I in company with my kinsman ride forth 
from Merton’s gates upon this my first journey. 


138 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


XIII. 

QUIMBY COURT. 

Upon' the road did Sir Francis converse with me in 
pleasant way at times ; then would he for long whiles keep 
silence, being no doubt busied with his own reflections* 
Once, as he loosened his cloak, which was thicker and far 
more rich of fabric than my own, he said: 

^^Is my son about your age and height. Though this 
young kinsman is not of thy way of speech or manner, 
being most sadly spoiled by his dear mother, who hath 
never heeded my commands touching this matter, yet doth 
the young scapegrace bear the self same name as thyself. 
So, is it like that some day there shall be two Sir Walters, 
the one of Kent, and the one of Surrey. And do I now 
beg of thee, Walter of Kent, that thou shalt strive to set 
good example unto Walter of Surrey.” 

^Alay it please thee, sir,” I made reply, ^Vill I do my 
best in way thou dost point out. And yet mayhap there 
will be things in which I would do well in taking pattern 
after thy son.” 

fear not, my young kinsman, for hast thy sire looked 
with far more of care to thy breeding than have I to that 
of my Walter. And moreover would I say Tis better to 
have no mother, as hath it been with thee, than to have 
one o’er indulgent. Yet hath my boy in truth a right 


QUIMBY COURT. 


139 


good tutor, and from this man of learning shalt thou gain 
knowledge as well.” 

After had I thanked Sir Francis for his kindly offer 
seemed he long to he lost in liis own thoughts. Paused 
we for dinner at a pleasant inn, where the good host’s 
stout and red-cheeked wife were no doubt of firm belief 
that I had fasted long, for did she ever urge me to eat more. 
And when could I not for want of room within me relieve 
my plate from all its fullness, brought she to me of still 
other dishes and begged me to partake of these. As 
drew near the nightfall did we turn aside from the high- 
way with intent to lay till morn at a certain hostel Sir 
Francis knew of, and where he said were we sure of good 
cheer. Yet when passed we by a narrow path around the 
base of one small, steep hill, we saw much smoke; and 
then we came upon the blackened ruins of the place to 
which had w^e looked for shelter through the night. Stood 
there about some charred floor-beams a throng of gazers, 
while behind such were others upon horseback. Of the 
latter, one who sat astride a large brown hunter, was stout 
of build, with a full red face which wore a look of much 
cheerfulness. Perceived this one Sir Francis, and riding 
up to him did he offer his hand and exclaim in loud tone 
and most hearty manner: 

^^Glad indeed am I to see thee, my old friend ! And tell 
me, prithee, what chance has brought thee hither. Surely 
’twas not thine intent to lie this night in that same Lion 
Inn which is no longer.” 

^^Was I indeed so minded. Sir Peter,” replied my kins- 
man. 

^^So, so; and the youth with thee — thy son?” 


140 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


is he in truth my ward, the son of good Sir 
Philip Wynnington, whom thou hast doubtless seen.” 

^‘Eight glad am I to greet thee, my young friend,” said 
the stout Knight, at same time seizing with grasp of iron 
my hand, the which it seemed to me he were crushing, 
though was I for sake of manners forced to reply to his 
salutation in smiling way, as if this same thing were 
pleasing to me. ^^Have I in faith seen thy good sire, albeit 
must I declare he were given in most sad way to neglect 
his hunting and as well his drinking. And,” turning to 
Sir Francis, ‘^thou and the youth as well are houseless to- 
night by reason of the burning of the inn ?” 

fear me that we are both like to be put to some 
straits by this same burning.” 

‘‘Then right glad am I the thing has come to pass!” 
did the other with loud laugh exclaim. “Would I in faith 
have set torch to the place with mine own hands to bring 
this thing about, since now art thou both forced to accept 
such hospitality as shall Sir Peter Poole offer thee at 
Quimby Court.” 

“^Art thou now at Quimby — thy wife’s inheritance ?” 

“In faith. Sir Francis, do we find Quimby by reason of 
its shelter far better for the winter than is my Yardsley 
Hall.” 

“Then, Sir Peter, will we need no urging to see for our- 
selves how Quimby Court may be sheltered.” 

“Though are my sons too small to amuse thee,” said 
Sir Peter turning his glance upon myself, “yet have I one 
fair daughter, by name of Amy, who in faith is of ripe 
years — at least for such as thee. And hath she with her 
as a guest one of her own age, and as well a charmer. 
If she the daughter of one proud Baron. Oh, thou shalt 


QUIMBY COURT. 


141 


see her, and betwixt the twain will they not leave unto thee 
sufficient of thine own heart for thine own use/^ 

Whereat did Sir Peter laugh in his hoarty fashion, and 
putting spurs with gentle touch upon his horse he rode, 
with Sir Francis beside him, toward Quimby Court, while 
I followed close upon them. As we passed on Sir Peter 
related at top of voice certain of his feats upon the hunt- 
ing field, and as well in way of drinking at his own and 
others^ boards. And was his laughter full as frequent as 
were his oaths. FTor did he seem in least to mind it that 
my kinsman was full content to listen, and made no at- 
tempt to interrupt with tales of his own prowess. At 
length, when had fully come upon the earth the darkness, 
rode we up to Quimby Court, which lay in one narrow 
vale where had the wind small chance to sweep. Bright 
were the gleam^s that came from out the windows; and 
was the warmth we found within of welcome kind. Began 
Sir Peter upon his ale the moment we had passed the 
doors, and did he press a large glass of this same upon 
my kinsman, while was I forced to swallow some mouth- 
fuls. Had it a most bitter taste, and for it did not Sir 
Francis or myself have aught of liking. Yet our host, 
betwixt his draughts, pointed out in words its virtues and 
said that it were of his own brewing. Presently came we 
into the dining-hall, where awaited us the Lady Poole, to 
whom was presented my kinsman and myself. While was 
I making my bow, the which seemed to impresss her in 
my favor, two fair maids of the age of about fifteen years 
came in, each with arm around the other’s waist. One was 
of much plumpness, and in her bright face I saw a likeness 
to Sir Peter. Was this his own daughter Amy. Had the 
other more beauty, and shone her eyes like brilliants. In 


142 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


truth was this none other than my old charmer, Maud de 
Wycherly. And did that fair maid seem quickly to per- 
ceive that there stood before her the one time victim of 
her art and cruelty. Did she look at me in hesitating way, 
as if she doubted whether I would be minded to forgive her 
for the sharp stabs with the which had she wounded my 
tender feelings last time we met. Yet when had I made 
it plain to her by kindly glance that within me no 
thoughts of vengeful kind yet lurked, she smiled at me in 
winning way. When had I been presented with all meet 
ceremony unto the fair ones, did Maud say to me in tone 
of pleading: 

know, Walter, that thou wilt pardon the unkind 
things which I spoke to thee that afternoon among the 
trees. In faith I meant not so much as one of all the hate- 
ful words I uttered.'’^ 

^‘Why should I treasure up thy sharp words,^^ made I 
reply, ‘Vhen before those thou didst speak so many to 
me that were pleasant.” 

Then as her eyes shone in the old bright fashion she 
said that I had much of the look of Sir Philip, whom 
Twas her sorrow that she saw not more of when dwelt they 
at Hazel Lodge, since had she for him so much nf admira- 
tion. And came it into my mind as she spoke thus that 
in her heart was she then planning to ensnare me to end 
that I might again minister to her vanity, and mayhap be 
of service to her when in a cruel mood she might have 
need of one to wound. Yet having perceived her real 
nature, could not her artful ways cause her to seem now 
what she had once looked to be in my boyish eyes. So 
were her wiles wasted upon myself, and her power gone. 
And thus it was I looked at her with admiration in my 


QUIMBY COURT. 


143 


eyes, yet with caution in my heart. Were we soon seated 
at the board, which was covered with good things. The 
blessing was asked in loud voice by our host, and mean- 
while his eye rested in loving way upon a tall flask of most 
red wine, which stood convenient to his hand. Dwelt he 
next upon the beauties of this same vintage, urging Sir 
Francis, who sat beside him, to frequent replenishments 
of his glass, and adding full oft to precept the beauty 
of example. Was my kinsman little minded to great 
indulgence of this fashion, since had he in truth not been 
formed or designed by nature for much in way of drinking. 
Yet whenever he seemed to feel it duty towards his host 
to raise glass to lips did he not show the same aversion as 
when had he partook of Sir Peter’s much beloved ale. 
Was some of this same wine set before me, as sat I betwixt 
the two fair maids. And were they in turn given small 
glasses of wine, which would they sip in most dainty 
fashion. Since was I of the stronger sex did I deem it 
meet to quaff to their good health in larger draughts than 
had they seen flt to take. And could I do this thing with 
more of readiness, since had our host spoke no false praise 
of this vintage, for was his wine in truth of a most pleas- 
ing flavor. The Lady Poole drank in small way of her 
wine, saying naught, yet ever beaming in gracious way 
upon her two guests. As had the wine let loose in measure 
my tongue, I spoke in gallant fashion to both of these 
maids, dividing into most equal parts the flattery of word 
and look for the which had they much liking, as was it 
most natural they should. 

Did not Maud seem o’erpleased to note that was di- 
rected full one-half of my attention to Amy Poole. Yet 
this other youthful charmer in her merry eyes gave ex- 


114 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


pression of her pleasure at the thought that she had won 
from this young gallant as full a share of homage as had 
her fairer rival. And would I from time to time perceive 
one directing at the other, and across my shoulder, a 
glance of mock defiance. Had Sir Peter between his 
emptying of glasses said much, and in no squeamish terms, 
of a certain Squire whom he now had as neighbor. And 
did his voice gain in its compass, till it seemed as if the 
hall shook. At length the Lady Poole deemed the time 
fit for her retirement with her Amy and Maud as well 
from the hoard. And when had she arisen, and was her 
example followed by the youthful twain, did Sir Francis 
and myself rise to our feet and how to them. Then we 
both made as if we would follow them to the room where 
were they minded to sit yet a while. But did our host 
shake his head and cry out: 

“Nay, nay. Sir Francis, shalt thou not now leave, for 
in faith have we not yet begun to drink W Then my poor 
guardian with faint look of disappointment upon his face 
sank hack into his seat. Next directing at me his glance 
Sir Peter went on thus: “Yet would I not tear thee, my 
young friend, away from that lovely twain, for would they 
he avenged upon me for this thing.'’^ 

When had he said this he hurst forth into a loud laugh, 
and did each maid blush and glance at me in arch way, 
as if to tell me that had she no thought of making denial 
of this same imputation. I took occasion now to ques- 
tion Maud touching her parents and her brothers, and she 
in careless tone replied : 

“Oh, do I not recall that there was aught amiss with 
them when I saw them last.” 

“Thou cruel one!” now burst forth Amy, shaking 


QUIMBY COURT. 


145 


finger in mock reproach at Maud. ^^Didst thou not 
promise to send to me thy brother Henry, who in faith 
is greatly to my liking.” 

As said she this the maid glanced at me in searching 
way, as if she fain would see upon my face some look that 
would bespeak small jealousy at hearing her thus praise 
another youth. But I added my own praises of the heir 
of the house of de Wycherly to that which had she already 
uttered. Whereat did she quickly drop the matter. Led 
they the way into a rich apartment; and was I right glad 
that Sir Peter had not been minded to keep me by him at 
his board, since Amy now uncovered a harp. Upon the 
strings of this played she with deft fingers, bringing forth 
from the same music that thrilled me. Then went to her 
Maud, who standing by the harp and in company with 
its notes, lifted up her tuneful voice in song. Sat I long 
enraptured by the strains of voice and chord, and gazing 
at the fair musicians. Yet though I beheld them with 
my eyes, my thoughts wandered from them; and when did 
the music sound most sweetly in my ear, beheld I in fancy 
one small maid, who had dwelt much within my thoughts, 
though absent beyond seas for many months. ^Twas 
Constance Leigh, looking for all the world as when last 
were I by her at Clayton Hall. Yet when had at length 
the music come to end, by reason of the weariness of 
Amy’s fingers and of Maud’s soft voice, did I not deem it 
wise to name unto the fair ones the truth that had their 
notes raised up for me the image of a younger and a 
dearer maid than they. Was I most earnest in my praise 
of the sweet sounds that had filled my ears, while they in 
modest fashion declared that I strove but to flatter them, 
since indeed was their performance most indifferent of 
10 


146 


SIR WALTER OE KENT. 


kind. I should have heard this one play upon the harp, 
said Amy; and should I have heard that one sing, said 
Maud; and then would I know what true music was. Yet 
did I contradict them in most firm and determined way, 
saying I knew full well what delightful music was, since 
had I that self same even listened to such with enchanted 
ears. Nor did they seem to take it ill that I had gone to 
length of disputing their own words. 

As sat we for some while longer in converse was I yet 
minded to make equal showing of respect unto them 
both. At length when chanced I to turn my glance 
toward Maud, perceived I that she looked at me with eye 
of displeasure, no doubt for reason that I had not been 
minded to return with readiness under the old spell in the 
which she in former days had held me. Yet did it seem 
to me she might have weighed the truth that ’twas she 
herself who broke this spell by most cruel words. And 
might she not in reason now hope to have the same made 
new again. When rose the fair twain to retire, did Maud 
nod to me in most cold and distant fashion, scarce moving 
her lips as bade she me good-night. Yet did Amy bow 
and smile to me in most winning way, with secret thought 
no doubt that she were thus completing my enslavement. 
Were I now alone, since had the Lady Poole retired with- 
out my notice while was I lost to all save the enchantment 
of the music. Was I about to mount unto the chamber 
which had been set apart for my use, when came there in 
to me a serving man, who said that my guardian, who was 
yet at Sir PetePs board, would have speech with me. 
Found I Sir Francis with his head sank upon his breast, 
and with half-closed eyes gazing downward in vacant way. 
But was Sir Peter seated with most red face, and with a 


QVIMBY COVBT. 


147 


great glass of his own bitter ale nigh to his hand, while 
gazed he with loving eye upon his gUest, whom had he, by 
frequent nrgings to drink, brought to this state of 
wretchedness. Then said my host, who had changed his 
loud tones to a hoarse whisper of much confidence: 

^^Hath my dear friend, thy guardian, just now expressed 
the wish that he might he conveyed unto his couch. And 
Twere well so, for in faith hath he been hut poor com- 
pany this hour, declining with wry face my good ale when 
were we minded to take no more wine. Now Tis a precept 
of my own, that when is a gentleman overtaken in his 
drink, which thing will of times happen to the best and 
goodliest of us, should he he put to bed by no serving man, 
so long as there be at hand some kinsman of his own who 
may do this loving office with kindly hands. iWhen had 
he said this did Sir Peter’s eyes shine with a soft and 
gentle light. Then in graver tone he went on: ^^And 
when thou hast done this, shall I most surely look to thee 
to return to me, since are there in faith some words which 
I do wish to say to you.” 

When had I assured my host that I would respect his 
wishes touching this matter, I did arouse my guardian and 
lead him with tottering step to his chamber. There, by 
reason of his excess in way of limpness and his constant 
strife to gain proneness of position, was I long time in 
getting him to bed. Yet when I returned unto my host, 
had he naught to say to me. For lay he back asleep in 
his chair, with hand yet touching his ale glass, the which 
were empty. And was there a peaceful look upon his red 
countenance, while did he most loudly snore. 

Went I to my chamber with much thought of pity for 
my guardian, who was now in truth the poor victim of a 


148 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


hospitality which had he not been minded to refuse. Was 
I awakened on the morrow by a cheery voice without. 
Arising I glanced through my window ; and then perceived 
I Sir Peter, who seemed to then speak some friendly words 
of approval unto his brown hunter, which was held by a 
small and slender groom, who as well showed great fond- 
ness for the horse. As the groom led away the hunter my 
host turned about, and then caught I full glimpse of his 
face. This now had upon it a fresh and smiling look, in 
which to my eye serene contentment seemed to have its 
place. Yet did I behold a far different expression of the 
countenance when went I in to my kinsman to offer him 
my aid as lackey. I found him half dressed and seated 
on the bed. Was his mien now of sort that bespoke deep 
reflection of melancholy kind. When asked I of him if he 
were ailing in any way, gave he utterance to a faint groan, 
and said in reply that comfort and ease of feeling were far 
from him just then. At which I did counsel him to go 
back to bed and there remain until he felt his wonted 
freshness and vigor return to him. But shook he his head 
in way of much firmness as he made this reply: 

^‘Yay, nay, my boy; it matters not I feel most weak and 
am of unsteady nerve, for would I get hence at once. 
Grieve I to tear thee away from the two comely young 
damsels with whom, I doubt not, thou hast the wish -to 
tarry yet another day. Yet didst thou last night behold 
my martyrdom, to the which was I minded to submit 
but for sake of courtesy. And is it in truth my wish and 
strong desire to place as quickly as I may some leagues 
twixt me and the fumes of my good host’s most bitter ale.” 

When had he with my aid finished dressing, gave he 
direction that I should go down to our host, while tarried 


QVIMBY COURT. 


149 


he yet longer with intent to gain xnore of strength. As 
came I to the foot of the carved stairway was I greeted in 
loud voice by Sir Peter, who asked me touching the condi- 
tion of my guardian. And when had I said he were not 
over strong, yet would he appear in some few moments, 
di4 my host exclaim: 

“In faith will a day’s rest be of much profit to Sir 
Francis. And am I minded to keep him here, and on the 
morrow take him with me unto Squire Gardner, who hath 
assured his neighbors of a most pleasing hunt.” 

Just then came in to my host two of his serving men, 
both past the prime, who wore most sleepish looks. One, 
with white hair around the edge of his bald crown, was 
full as red of face as was his master. Had the other long 
gray locks, and much pallor upon his countenance. Gazed 
Sir Peter at the twain with look of great severity for a 
moment, and then cried he out : 

“Thou varlets! Wast thou. Jack,” to the pale one, 
“found sleeping at thy post when should’st thou have kept 
thy watch o’er Quimby Court; and is it in faith more to 
thy shame that thou didst this thing when thou -wast in 
thy sober senses, and not lost in drunkenness.” 

“Have pity on me. Sir Peter,” did Jack plead, albeit in 
most clumsy fashion, breaking and twisting his words, 
^fiiad I within me many cups of most strong ale when sat I 
down to rest my legs, and afore I knew it was I asleep.” 

“There thou liest foully!” shouted Sir Peter,” for so 
much art thou used to guzzle strong ales that in all 
Quimby is there not sufficient of this same to give thee 
excuse of drunkenness.” 

Whereat did the poor man blubber out with many tears 
that had he his old wife and sick widowed daughter to care 


160 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


for, and ’twonld go hard with them indeed should Sir 
Peter turn him forth from Quimhy. Without giving Jack 
reply, did my host turn in wrathful way unto him of the 
bald head, and exclaim: 

“But was thou, Dick, scoundrel as thou art, most truly 
and completely drunk when shouldst thou have been 
mending fires. Hence were we chilled and starved when 
should we in faith have had warmth and comfort. Hast 
thou aught to say for thyself ?” 

“But show me pity. Sir Peter,” urged this man in eager 
way, and looking at his fellow from out the corners of his 
eyes, “would I most truly not have been drunk, had it not 
been that Jack kept urging upon me cup after cup of most 
strong ale; and did he well night use force to cause me to 
take the same.” 

Did Jack now give the other servant a reproachful 
glance, and again burst he in tears and cast down his eyes, 
while thundered at him his master in this way: 

“I wonder not thou fear^st to look me in the face. That 
thou shouldst have the heart to urge to drunkenness poor 
Dick, who is in faith forgiven, and may go his ways.” 
With look of great relief did Dick not pause for thanks, 
but hurried straightway from the presence of his master. 
“Jack, thou mak^st it in truth most hard for me to keep 
myself within control. When weigh I again the wicked- 
ness of thy action touching our Dick, can I not exercise 
that same control.” Here did the worthy Knight shake 
fist with much of vigor at the culprit, and bestow upon 
him a long string of oaths, which had effect to relieve in 
part his wrath, for then went he on in milder tone: “Yet 
for the sake of thy old wife and sick widowed daughter 
shalt • thou and Quimhy not part this time. But if thou 


QVIMBY COURT. 


151 


dost this same thing again, or shonldst thon he caught in 
sleep once more at time of watch, then out shalt thou 
and thy poor ones go. Now get thee from my sight 

Paused not Jack to so much as wipe his eyes, hut went 
he off with speed like that of Dick^s. While was Sir Peter 
lamenting o’er the worriment that oftimes came to him 
through fault of his own servants, my guardian made his 
appearance. And did he not, to my mind, take with much 
of kindness to the hearty slaps upon the hack that were 
given him by his host, who swore it were high time that 
we should break the fast. Upon the hoard were, beside the 
round of beef, and the bread, a jug of Sir Peter’s ale and a 
flask of wine. As Sir Francis perceived the jug, with its 
frothy mouth, his glance bespoke most unhappy thought. 
And when had his host poured out glasses of this same 
drink, was one offered to him. Begged my guardian to be 
spared the ale and the meat as well, saying that a portion 
of a loaf, together with a small draught of wine would be 
sufficient for him. At this Sir Peter gazed upon his 
guest with eyes of wonder. Yet did he, albeit with a grave 
shake of head, yield in this to my guardian. When had 
our host devoured some great slices of the beef, the which 
had he washed down with much ale, found he the time to 
unfold unto Sir Francis his plans for disposing of him 
for the morrow. But my guardian in Arm way refused to 
tarry longer, saying he had in hand a certain business 
which would brook no putting off, and that should he not 
reach Bidwell that same night, would evil surely come of 
the delay. With much of regret upon his face. Sir Peter 
made avowal that he would now he forced to grant his 
guests leave to depart. And some little time thereafter 
did we mount our horses, while was our host loudly calling 


152 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


out to us that we should each have stirrup-cup. Then 
when had he asked to be permitted to go without the same, 
was Sir Francis urged to come to Quimby when had he 
the time for hunting. Did I now perceive at an upper 
window Amy, who "waved unto me a farewell, the which 
made I effort to acknowledge in gallant way. Was not 
Maud de Wycherly in view, yet did not I feel punished in 
that she were not minded to wish me well at my departure. 


xiy. 


BIDWELL HALL. 

When had we passed beyond the gates of Quimby did 
my guardian sigh in way of relief, and then say: 

^‘^Thou didst note, Walter, that in making my excuses to 
Sir Peter, I urged most pressing business. In saying this 
same thing told I downright untruth. Was thy sire 
averse to all falsehood; yet as thy guardian will mine own 
conscience acquit me if I tell thee there is no wrong in the 
utterance of lies like to this in thine own defence. For 
in truth, had my friend held me at his disposal until to- 
morrow night, within a week would thy young kinsman at 
Bidwell be master of that to which is he now but heir.” 

Had Sir Francis little more to say upon our journey, 
albeit did he slowly cast off his looks of melancholy. And 
had he more of appetite when dined we at the Oak Tree 
Inn. Was darkness upon us as rode we up the avenue at 
Bidwell. When had we come unto the Hall, I perceived 
that this was built in much the same fashion as Merton, 
though were it the larger one. And within doors was 
there far more to attract than in the well nigh barren 
floors and walls which had I seen from childhood. Was 
my guardian greeted by the Lady Wynnington with some- 
what of coldness, as it seemed to me. Were she intent with 
her son Walter, who was a large and awkward youth, with 
a full, woman-like face of great fairness, and light blue 

153 


154 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


eyes. Did he bear much of resemblance unto his mother, 
and seemed it as if had she wish to forever rest her eyes 
upon him. Since had I in modesty kept in the back- 
ground, Sir Francis called out to myself that he were 
minded to present me to his wife and his heir. As I 
advanced, bowing in respectful way, did my Lady scan 
me in suspicious manner, and then seem to compare me 
with her offspring, while telling me in tone which lacked 
warmth that I were welcome at Bidwell. But young 
Surrey Walter greeted me in more hearty way, clasping 
my hand and saying we would have much of sport to- 
gether. And now did I perceive a change in Lady Wyn- 
nington toward myself. Were she no doubt by this time 
in her own mind well assured that were I not the equal 
of her own son. Then she smiled upon me, albeit in pity- 
ing way, and in a tone which to my ear had much of soft- 
nesss, she said: 

^Toor boy, to think thou hadst the misfortune to lose 
thy mother at such an age. And yet art thou grown, and 
do seem to comport thyself right well for one of thy years. 
Is it most strange to me; for am I sure my loved Walter 
would never have lived without his dear mother. Oftimes 
have I much trembled at the thought of mine own death, 
since could not my boy live without me.^^ 

Then did she turn to her son and lavish upon him en- 
dearing words and kisses, which he received without show- 
ing aught of thankfulness. While was I noting this had 
Sir Francis sent a servant to summon him who were now to 
be tutor to the two Walters. Was his name Charles 
Hackett, and was he of person short and meagre, albeit 
strong and with power to endure much. Dark was his 
hue, and was his nose of great size, and curved like to a 


BIDWELL HALL. 


155 


Turkish blade. Was there ever upon his face, when 
chanced he to he among those whom he deemed to be 
his betters, a pleasant and respectful smirk. When had 
he come in to us and had grasped the hand of his new 
pupil, he said : 

“Ahah, my other Walter, hast thou fallen in good 
hands. Shalt thou he taught much by myself. Who 
hadst thou for thy tutor ^ere thou earnest to Bidwell?” 
When had I informed him touching Master Hayden and 
Don J ose did he laugh softly and speak thus : ^^T^hy Parson 
knew his prayers, the which had he by heart, else would 
it have availed him naught to open hook.^^ 

‘^Hay, sir,” did I interrupt; ^Vould I with all due re- 
spect wish and endeavor to make clear to thee that our 
Parson could read right well of print or writing, which 
had he not once before set eyes on.” 

^^This is well, my new pupil,” went he on, like to 
see thee make such defence of this thy old tutor. I said 
that in mere way of figure, since of a verity he knew 
well how both to write and read. Yet would I be 
sworn thou wilt learn here many things which Hayden 
dreamed not of. And thy Papist did no doubt learn thee 
to fence well, which art shalt thou teach to thy fellow 
pupil. And will we find out what manner of French 
and Spanish this same Don, as he called himself, hath 
taught thee.” 

Had supper been prepared in some haste for Sir Francis 
and myself, and to the same sat we down, while the others 
kept us company, though had they already partaken of 
the evening meal. And yet did I note that Master 
Hackett was in skilful way popping into his mouth many 
morsels of food, while at same time he paid court unto 


156 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


the Knight and Lady, and as well showed some of respect 
to the two Walters. Upon her son was the mistress of 
Bidwell the whole time intent, asking of him each moment 
if he were not minded to have taste of this or that. Yet 
would he not reply beyond a shake of head and yawnings, 
while did he gaze on me in pleasant albeit somewhat 
sleepy way. Sat my guardian with look of much content- 
ment upon his face as he sipped of wine and water, after 
had he partook of sufficient food. At length turned he to 
myself and said: 

^^Am I somewhat endowed with philosophy, and have I 
in that same light perceived that, after we have been for 
a while in misery, is the sense of our relief at escape from 
the same, a true pleasure. Doth it make us regret no 
longer what we already had gone through to earn that 
relief. And so can I this night, assured of comfort and of 
freedom, look back in pleasant way upon the torture and 
captivity which had I yester night at hands of good Sir 
Peter.” 

On the morrow, after had I awoke, refreshed from the 
night^s slumber in the large and pleasant chamber which 
had been set apart for me, did I descend the stairs and 
find waiting for me Walter of Surrey. Broke we our fast 
together, talking in merry way of the sports which should 
we have without-doors when it were again the Spring-time. 
When had come the hour for lessons, went we unto the 
room where Master Hackett oft gave utterance to his 
v/isdom. Was he already there and in waiting for us with 
his pleasant smirk. Did he rub his hands in way of one 
who looks forward to much of pleasure. Then began 
he by saying that he would now weigh in the scales the 
knowledge of my former tutors, and that meanwhile would 


BIDWELL HALL. 


157 


Walter of Surrey gain wisdom by using well his ears. Yet 
was not my young kinsman then minded to do this thing, 
since had there just entered his head the thought that 
it were a pleasant morn for a ride upon the back of his 
new horse Tom, and that with myself for company upon 
my poor hack, might he reap more of pleasure than in the 
way his tutor did propose. When had he given expression 
to his thoughts touching this matter, our tutor with grave 
face said: 

‘^My Walter, dost not think Twould be better for thee 
now to give thyself unto the studies which will make 
thee wise, than to waste these same moments in sport 
which thou canst have at its fit and proper time ?” 

‘^i^ay, nay,^^ the youth made reply, ^‘have I no wish to 
do as thou would’st have me, but rather would I be on 
Tom^s back. And so shall I be, say what thou wilt, and 
shall our new Walter bear me company 

^^Then go thyself, my boy, but shall thou leave me here 
thy kinsman, so that I may instruct him while thou art 
absent.'’^ 

‘^Yet say I he shall come with me!’^ cried out the heir 
of Bidwell; and then giving his tutor a look of defiance, 
he ran from out the room. 

‘Ts it ever thus with the boy,’’ said Master Hackett 
with a sigh, ^Vhen yield I not to him goes he unto my 
Lady Wynnington to make complaint. Will it be loss of 
time for us to begin now the business which I had named.” 

Paced he the room for some few moments with look of 
vexation in the place of his wonted smirk, which in truth 
would have the more become it. Then of a sudden did he 
change again his look to one of submission, as there came 
into the room the mistress of Bidwell with arm around 


168 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


her son, who walked with her and glanced at his tutor in 
way of triumph. Did my Lady wear injured look, as said 
she to the tutor : 

“How canst thou be so severe, Hackett? Doth my 
Walter wisely desire to ride upon the hack of his new 
and gentle horse, while is the weather fine. Dost thou 
not think he might with ease make good the hour^s loss 
another day ?” 

“May it please thee, madam,^^ said he in extenuation, 
“Have I not opposed thy Walter’s going, further than to 
ask of him if it were not better to attend to lessons. I 
did next merely say that my new pupil should remain with 
me for instruction.” 

“Why art thou so severe on Kentish Walter? Should 
he he held here to his tasks while his fellow pupil canters 
long the highway or cross the fields. Shouldst thou not 
show unto my son more of favor in this way than to 
t’other youth.” 

“Then, madam, if thou art thus minded to have them 
given this playspell, will I with pleasure close the books, 
and will myself take a brisk walk across the fields.” 

“Yet, Hackett, why is it that I must ever reason with 
thee touching this matter ere thou wilt grant the most fit 
and natural requests of my dear son ?” 

Whereat gazed she with much of reproach upon the 
tutor, who no doubt perceiving that his replies were like 
to avail him naught, was wisely silent, albeit looking upon 
her yet in submissive way. Spoke she next some most 
endearing words to her son, and did she follow up this 
with caress and kisses. When had she left the room 
Master Hackett spoke to his pupils in kindly tone, and 
with his best smirk vowed that he would find more pleasure 


BIDWELL HALL. 


159 


than should we in this respite from studies. And now 
did I fancy that Surrey Walter was not glad to note his 
tutor’s seeming pleasure in our thus taking a ride abroad 
in lesson time. Would the youth no doubt have now 
changed his mind and set some other time for our canter, 
were it not he deemed it most unwise to yield by the 
breadth of one single hair unto the wishes of his tutors 
Went then the two young Wynningtons upon their ride. 
Though was his new horse of most gentle disposition, 
having been by his loving mother chosen with end to 
safety of her son, yet did Tom far outstrip my hack that 
still had upon it the weariness of two days of journeying. 
And did this same thing cause much of delight to my 
companion, who would laugh with much of heartiness at 
myself, when looking o’er his shoulder he beheld me long 
ways behind. At last having left me at more than wonted 
distance from him did he laugh with so much of glee, and 
so sway his body, that when the beast of a sudden stumbled 
he lost his seat and fell to the earth. Whereat Tom paused 
and looked down upon his master as if in affright. Did 
Surrey Walter slowly rise and begin to rub his arm in 
way which seemed to bespeak much of pain. When had I 
come up with him saw I tears in his eyes. Then he said 
in tone that was in truth well nigh a sob. 

^^’Twas a wonder I were not killed by this same fall, 
which was all from the fault of Tom in stumbling as he 
did. If this thing should come to my mother’s ears, would 
she not again permit me to ride in saddle. Is there a 
most frightful bruise upon my arm, for fell I on it with 
all my weight.” 

Had I alighted, and now on turning up for him the 
sleeve of his right arm I discovered some few scratches 


160 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


and a raw spot about the size of his own thumb-nail. 
When had I assured him fully that this would quickly 
heal, and that the smart would soon leave his arm did he, 
in secret way which escaped me not, wipe from his eyes 
the tears. Then we both mounted and rode on, though 
would he not again that morn invite me to a race. Though 
at first had I wondered at these signs of what I deemed 
unmanly weakness, yet when came I to weigh the matter, 
I perceived that this thing was due in large part to his 
mother’s heedless acts, by the which had he been spoiled. 
And came then to me the thought that I myself might 
have been as weak had I known naught save indulgence 
at the hands of an unwise mother. Had my companion 
well nigh regained his wonted spirits when we reached 
the Hall. At dinner ate he in way that would some sharp 
tongues have named as ravenous. When was it a full 
hour past the noon I asked him if he had wish to go with 
me to Master Hackett. With a long ya^vn did he shake his 
head and say he was minded to have a good nap. How 
bent I my steps toward the lesson-room, where greeted 
me in most pleasant way our tutor, who asked how had 
we enjoyed our ride. Hor did he seem to mind it that 
his other pupil had not this time sought his guidance. 
With smile of one who makes show of his own knowledge 
by drawing forth another’s ignorance, he said : 

^^Now will I have opportunity to learn if this Don of 
thine had right knowledge of the French and Spanish 
tongues. Are there many of the lower orders in Spain 
and France who speak a strange corruption of their native 
forms of languge, which may not be found in any books 
nor might be understood by they of gentle breeding. 
Mayhap thy old tutor hath been reared mid those who 


BI DWELL HALL. 


161 


spoke in a debased fashion. Wijl I now put this matter 
to the test by asking of thee certain questions, first giving 
the same in French and then in Spanish.” 

Then spoke he many words which seemed most strange 
unto my ear, though did some few of these bear 
resemblance of faint kind to the French as I knew this. 
Yet of his meaning had I no knowledge. When had he 
perceived from my manner that I were at great loss to 
comprehend his questions, did he smile in way of triumph. 
Next he uttered many more strange words, together with 
some few that might have made claim to most distant kin- 
ship with the Spanish. When had he paused, and looked 
at me as if for answer, made I reply, first in French and 
then in Spanish that naught had I understood of all which 
he had said. Looked he at myself in way of much per- 
plexity; and when had I repeated the salf same words in 
the two tongues, he exclaimed : 

^^My boy, what manner of speech is this, which I take 
it thy Don hath taught thee, and which thou has just now 
given utterance to?” 

Then I said in English what had I before twice spoken 
in the words of both France and Spain. Did he look at 
me with eyes well opened in their wonder; and then with 
many shakes of head, and withal somewhat of satisfaction 
in the lines upon his countenance, went he on in this way : 

^^Have I now been given full proof that the Papist 
fellow, who for some time partook of thy sire’s bounty, 
hath taught thee naught but a strange jumble of words, 
that have sound, yet no meaning, or at best are the lan- 
guage of the debased orders.” 

Paid he no heed to the many things I spoke and urged 
in the defence^ of my French and Spanish. At length he 
11 


162 


8IR WALTER OF KENT. 


showed to me a book much worn and soiled in its pages, 
and which contained the French and Spanish words in 
common use, together with their meaning in the English, 
and as well some rules for the use of these same. Pointed 
he out to me word after word which had he uttered, and 
demanded if he had not made use of the right terms. 
^Twere vain to strive to make clear to him that had his 
accent been of such rude and imperfect fashion that no 
one might comprehend his speech. He declared that the 
book had in it rules of accent, and that by following 
these had he pronounced each single word in its fit way. 
Next wrote he down some few lines in the foreign tongues, 
and asked of me to give to him the English for these. Yet 
such were his ways of placing into groups his words, and in 
writing down these same, that was I at loss to know what 
he had writ. Then, once more with look of triumph, he 
cried : 

Again have I caught thee, my good Walter. Yet is 
the fault not thine, but thy tutor’s. With instruction of 
fit sort wilt thou learn much. In truth will I make of 
thee a real scholar of the languages of France and Spain. 
How write down for me some lines in same way as have I 
done for thee.” 

Whereat did I put down in writing of most plain kind 
lines of the sort for which had he asked. Then took he 
his book and long vainly strove to find the English mean- 
ing of these same. When had he at length perceived this 
thing were well beyond his powers, he spoke thus : 

^^Am I now most fully sustained. For if thou hadst 
writ down these things in proper language of they of Spain 
and France, would I have been able with much of ease to 
put the same in English.” 


B I DWELL HALL. 


163 


]\Iost plainly did I now perceive how idle were it to dis- 
pute further with him touching his error, yet was I not 
minded to let him go without one parting shot, and to 
this end I said: 

^^Mayhap as well Don Jose hath been wrong in the 
matter of his rules and ways of fencing. Though thou 
seem’st to have thought him well enough at this same 
art, shouldst thou not weigh the truth of this by trying 
foils with me, his faithful pupil?” 

“Nay, nay,” made Master Hackett his reply, holding 
forth his hand as if to ward off the blow of weapon. “In 
that same will I in all willingness accept thy Don as having 
been a true master. Now shall I find out as to the amount 
and quality of learning which thou hadst at hands of thy 
first tutor, the Parson of Merton.” 

Then put he to myself questions in the studies in which 
had I passed my time in company with Master Hayden. 
Gave I ready answers, and did he at length pause and 
gaze at me in wonder. When he next put question to me 
made he a grievous error. Whereat took I freedom in 
most respectful way to set him right. At this he uttered 
one deep sigh, and said in pleasant tone: 

“At least was Parson Hayden of much service, in that 
he hath imparted to thee good groundwork for learning. 
Would I of verity call the man a scholar.” 

Did I not deem it well to name to Hackett the truth 
that had my tutor Hayden much of guidance from his own 
pupil in the latter years of their studies. And when sat 
we down next at lessons my new tutor found to his dismay 
that Walter of Kent was full able to repay him in kind for 
such knowledge as he himself might impart. Though 
strove he hard to lead me to mastery of his strange Spanish 


164 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


and yet stranger French, could I not twist my mind into 
lit shape to receive the same. Yet came it to pass one day 
that Hackett was at last brought to see that he were in 
great error in so far as went his use of foreign tongues, 
and that in truth had old Don Jose spoke in proper way 
not alone his native language, hut as well the one in use 
N’orth of the Pyrenees. 

Chanced there to pass that way, upon a journey to the 
Court of England, the old Count de Yoye, a good Hugue- 
not. And did he pause for rest and for refreshment some 
hours at Bidwell. Sir Francis made toward his guest dis- 
play of much regard, while Lady Wynnington hovered 
about him, striving much to please by many hows and 
smiles, and uttering the few French words which had she 
at her command, while the Count bore himself toward her 
in gallant way, after the manner of his race. Spoke he 
English of most broken kind, and did it seem to cause him 
much toil to give expression to his thoughts in our 
tongue. Perceiving this thing Sir Francis said to him that 
the tutor at Bidwell, and one of his pupils as well, spoke 
his language. Then were Hackett and myself sent for 
and came into the presence of the Count de Hoye. When 
had my tutor been told of what were desired of him, bowed 
he low, yet with look of much assurance, and with 
broadest smirk, rubbing well his hands meanwhile, 
he advanced toward the old noble and addressed him in 
what he deemed most proper French. Yet did the Count 
seem to find the self-same perplexity which had beset me 
in striving to comprehend these strange words. At length 
gave he a shrug of shoulders and told the tutor in French, 
such as had I been taught by Don Jose, that he did not 
understand one word of what had then been said to him. 


BIDWELL HALL. 


165 


Now did it dawn upon poor Hackett that, since could he 
not make out the speech of this noble, was he himself after 
all no French scholar. Then looked he at myself in 
sheepish way from out the corners of his eyes. Fell also 
upon me the glance of the Count de Noye, who said as if 
unto himself, with another shrug of shoulder: 

“If the tutor speak in such strange fashion words of no 
meaning, what might we look for from the pupil?” 

Whereat did I, having made my how, advance to him and 
using with great care his language, strove to make clear 
to him the cause of my tutor's odd words. Was the Count 
much pleased to hear me speak thus, and placing both his , 
hands upon my shoulders in gentle way did he, with 
gesture as well as word, praise my accent. Talked we 
long in French, while Lady Wynnington glanced at me 
from time to time in way which did bespeak annoyance 
that the young kinsman of their house should have so 
great part in the entertaining of the noble guest. Yet 
seemed her husband pleased at this same thing, while 
Hackett listened in respectful way, as to an oracle of which 
the meaning he knew not. When at length I asked of 
the Count if he had while in Picardy e'er chanced to be 
entertained at the chateau of the Count de Brecy, he re- 
plied that he had made visit there just before the Christ- 
mas time. And when I spoke the name of young Con- 
stance Leigh his face beamed with pleasure, and he de- 
clared she were one most charming little maid. When 
said he that upon his going back, he looked to find enter- 
tainment again with his friend, the Count de Brecy, did 
I beg of him to take my love unto Mistress Constance. 
Whereat he tapped me on the breast in playful fashion, 
and said in his own tongue : 


166 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


^^You rogue, will I grant your prayer, and be your go- 
between in this same affair of heart/’ 

Thereafter did Master Hackett treat me with much 
show of deference, which was not pleasing unto Lady Wyn- 
nington, since she deemed such as due only to the young 
master of Bidwell. And spoke she her thoughts to him 
touching this matter. Then did he show same light 
respect to me as of old, save when were we alone; and 
at such times would he make up for what had seemed 
neglect by bearing himself in well nigh abject way. And 
soon grew I to be his tutor and he my pupil, when was 
not Walter of Surrey minded to join us at studies. At 
such times would both Hackett and myself busy ourselves 
in striving to instruct him; and I perceived that the 
seeds of wisdom, which sowed we with lavish hands, did 
not every one fall on barren ground. And would my 
comrade have come on well at fencing, were it not that 
by chance one day the button fell from off my foil, the 
point of which did inflict one small scratch upon his face, 
as lunged he forward. Made he no outcry at this, and 
would the thing have never after been heard of, were it 
not that just then his mother appeared. And did she then 
and there put end to his lessons in this art. Likewise 
by chance Sir Francis once came upon us, as was I in- 
structing our tutor, who sat with most intent face striving 
to profit by my words. Was the other Walter then at 
further end of room resting himself from effort of having 
cast sundry light missiles at the head of Hackett, who 
had paid no heed to this, since was he so greatly occupied 
in weighing whatever wisdom were falling from my lips. 
Said my guardian then naught touching the matter of my 
having turned tutor; but some days thereafter, when I 


BID WELL HALL. 


167 


came upon him on the stairs, did he tax me with this 
thing. Could I now do naught but make my full ad- 
missions, albeit urging in behalf of Ilackett that had he 
striven most faithfully to do full duty toward both the 
heir of Bidwell and myself. When had I come to end of 
this same plea, did Sir Francis smile and say: 

^^Have I no thought of bringing to task thy elder pupil 
for his having smaller knowledge than thyself. For right 
glad am I, Walter of Kent, that thou didst outstrip him, 
since am I now assured that of the many things thou shalt 
heat into the head of Hackett, will he on his part he 
able some day to beat a few into the head of my much 
spoiled and petted son.^^ 


168 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


XV. 

LONDON. 

Had the first summer of my stay at Bidwell drawn well 
night to close, when there came to pass a thing by the 
which was I enabled to catch my first wide glimpse of life. 
Eode there up one day to Bidwell Hall an hour before the 
noon my old friend. Parson Hayden. And after had he 
payed his court to Sir Francis, and had bowed in most 
humble way before the Lady Wynnington, who did 
acknowledge his obeisance by one stately nod, he gave me 
greeting of effusive sort. Next he strove to win the favor 
of Surrey Walter by praises of his fairness of skin and 
soft beauty of feature ; yet did the youth receive his words 
in yawning fashion, since had he been told this same thing 
so many times afore by his fond mother, and by others who 
had sought her favor, that had it now small sweetness for 
his ear. Yet it chanced that the Lady Wynnington over- 
heard this praise of her loved son, and she smiled in 
gracious way upon him who had spoken thus. And seemed 
he to take much of pleasure in this his just reward. When 
had he asked of me touching my studies led I him to our 
lesson-room, where was he made known to Hackett, whom 
he treated in pleasant fashion, albeit striving to make it 
plain unto the man that he himself was far above him. 
While were we still seated round the board at noonday 


LONDON. 


169 


meal, did Merton’s Parson give to me a shock, and for the 
moment fill my youthful mind with sore dismay. 

^^Oh,” he exclaimed in tone of one who hath exciting 
rumor to spread forth, ^^had I well nigh forgot to tell that 
which I have heard from one who doth vouch upon his 
honor for the truth of what he said. There was long time 
as guest with Sir Harry Bullard at Hillgate, and as well 
with the dear departed Sir Philip at Merton in the way 
of tutor, an old limping Papist, concerning whom had 
many people their grave doubts. The fellow left England 
some months gone by, though had he not the wisdom to 
stay beyond seas, but must journey back upon some dark 
business of conspiracy. Yet was he, and before he might 
bring to pass his bloody purpose, apprehended by certain 
w^atchful officers, and taken to the Tower at London, 
where will he tarry some few days.” 

^^When leaves this man the Tower,” said Sir Francis in 
tone of questioning, “he will go — ?” 

“To the scaffold. Sir Francis, the which he doth full 
well merit. He hath already had trial and conviction.” 

As said he this Master Hayden looked in searching way 
into my face, as if to watch for some expression of the 
pain which he no doubt believed his words had given to 
me. At same time came there into my mind the true re- 
solve that should not my old friend Hon Jose lay head 
upon the block, till had I made whate’er strong effort 
was within my power to save him from this thing. Yet 
was I not minded to make confident in this matter of 
Parson Hayden. So I strove hard to maintain calm look, 
and opened not my lips, nor showed interest, as went he 
on to say that Sir Harry Bullard, being himself a Papist, 


170 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


would not dare to make attempt to save his wife’s kinsman, 
and that, even should he he minded to do this, would his 
plea have no weight. Did I perceive half hidden in his 
look and words a keen delight at thought that the man 
who had once taken his place as the tutor at Merton was 
now like to kneel before the headsman. When from 
Bidwell Hall he rode away some hours thereafter, was he 
no doubt of belief that I had from absence grown cold 
toward this hapless soldier. After lesson time went I 
forth, and as I rambled on, not minding where I walked, 
did I strive to hit upon the plan by which might I the 
best serve my much imperiled friend. When it were come 
evening sought I Sir Francis, and finding him alone, I 
declared to him that I were full sure the charges gainst 
Don Jose were false, since were he never one to join in act 
of conspiracy. To this did my guardian shake head, and 
made he interruption in this way^ 

^‘Yet might this same Don Jose he in the service of they 
who are in secret striving still to subvert England to 
Papist rule; and should it have been his orders to come 
hither upon a certain mission would he he too much of 
soldier to shirk this thing.” 

^^Yet, sir,” I urged, ‘Vould he he minded that here in 
this land, under our gracious Queen of the true faith, 
hath he in time of need found home and somewhat of 
happiness. And moreover is his age and crippled state 
against his being sent on mission of such kind.” 

Did Sir Francis now say that I might he right touching 
this matter, yet he declared that he himself had no power 
or interest which might serve as aid to bring about the 
pardon of this man. Then begged I of him that at least 
would he permit me to go to London that I might see the 


LONDON. 


171 


soldier in his captivity, and learn of him upon what ground 
might rest the charge of which had he been convicted. 
Said my guardian now that he perceived naught of ad- 
vantage which might come of such a visit, save that I 
would have consolation of saying last farewell to one I 
had much esteemed and loved. Then with this same plea, 
which had he just named, did I implore of him to yield me 
his consent to go to London Tower. Though he warned 
me that I might even fail to gain entrance to that strong- 
walled place, yet did he at length grant me the permission 
which had I sought in such earnest way. Took he from 
his strong-box a purse that contained five-and- twenty 
guineas, which he counted, and then gave to me for my 
use upon this enterprise. Likewise did he say that I 
should have for the Journey the new roan mare, which had 
he bought the week before, and that was found to be right 
fleet of foot. As well he wrote out for me, in ill-spelled 
and straggling words, albeit were these same put together 
in clear fashion, a letter telling who I was, and where I 
dwelt, together with the purpose which took me to London. 
At end of this he wrote that he himself would recompense 
any one who should grant me such aid as I might chance 
to stand in need of. Then gave he the name of a certain 
Knight to whom was he known, and who were like to 
then he in London, albeit was he sure that this one would 
do naught to save Don Jose. When had I declared it was 
my purpose to ride forth at break of day. Sir Francis 
grasped me warmly by the hand and, with look which 
bespoke some affection, he said: 

^^My Kentish Walter, do I truly wish thee success, and 
well return from thy journey. Wilt thou see many strange 
sights, as well as divers sorts and conditions of people. 


172 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


And will it behove thee to keep thine eyes well open with 
end to observe and study what thou shalt see; and, since 
there be rogues about, likewise for thine own well-being 
and security.” 

Was I upon the morrow dressed and girt with small 
sword, and with only pistol as well as purse in hand, ere 
the sun had risen. Going to the stable had I soon saddle 
on the new mare’s back. With a feeling of much eager- 
ness did I set forth upon my journey. Knew I well the 
London road for nigh to a dozen miles, and were the 
scenes along the way that bright morn of peaceful and 
quiet sort. Made I short pause at one small wayside inn 
that I might break fast and bait as well the roan. And 
likewise when were it little past the noon, made I stop at 
a hostel that had for sign an eagle; yet did I tarry here 
much longer that might the roan mare have rest. As 
passed along the latter half of day, found I at times need 
to ask guidance as to the turn I was to take at next meet- 
ing of the ways. The nearer I drew to great London, 
met I more people on the road, and as well were there more 
houses to be seen; and' did the inns grow larger in their 
size as well as number. About the porch of some of 
these, upon settles I saw men with cups in hand, who 
sipped and idly gazed upon me as I passed. Did more 
than one maid with full pink cheeks look out at me from 
opened door of inn and seem to wonder why paused I not 
there that she might serve me of their ale. As well one 
slight maid with most fair face looked out at me from her 
opened casement with much of archness in her glance, as 
if it pleased her that she had caught my eye. Though 
had the day been fair there came at early eve a chillness, 
and did mist begin to rise as if from off the ground. 


LONDON, 


173 


Then when I came from out betwixt two small hills 
upon a wide heath, I beheld approaching the same beaten 
. road from a side path two youths, perhaps my elders by 
some few years. Were both well mounted upon large- 
boned nags, and wore they well fitting garments. When 
they perceived me they reined in their beasts and seemed 
to whisper, meantime well eying me. Did I now recall 
that Sir Francis had gave me warning that there were 
rogues about. And had I been told that many of those 
who took purses on the highway were young, and in truth 
much like the twain who now watched me. Yet was I not 
minded to yield up my five-and-twenty guineas unto such 
as they. And though I believed their nags were no match 
for the roan which I bestrode, yet had I no wish to cross 
the health before them, with my hack a most plain mark 
for bullets. In that same moment did I resolve to put 
bold front upon the matter. Then, moving hand to my 
only pistol to assure myself Twas in readiness, rode I 
toward the youths and reining in the mare, called out in 
tone and way of courtesy: 

^‘With your leave, young gentlemen, would I make hold 
to ask if I shall have the pleasure of your company across 
the heath.-” 

Whereat without utterance of a single word both turned 
their nags, and using spurs galloped hack on the same 
path by which had they come. Perceived I by this that 
they were honest youths like unto myself, albeit were they 
in my eyes far from brave. As rode I across the heath did I 
laugh softly to myself at thought that they no doubt 
believed myself to be a scourge of highways, and that they 
would to others tell of my great stature, fierce look and 
thundering voice, and withal increasing me to at least a 


174 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


pair, and mayhap to three or four. Beyond the heath came 
I upon a small ale-honse where paused I for a cup of mild 
wine to refresh me till I should reach the end of this long 
day’s journey. From him who brought to me the drink 
did I learn that if I followed straight on the road before 
me for two miles, turning to neither right nor left, would 
I come upon the Surrey shore of Thames Eiver, and would 
I find among the houses there more than one good inn of 
which to make choice. As rode I on the mist grew thicker, 
until at length could I see naught a dozen yards beyond 
the roan mare’s nose. And now darkness settled down as 
well upon the way, so that I for safety deemed it wise 
to move in slow and cautious fashion. Twice the mare 
stumbled badly, and when the second time she did this, 
I sprang from out the saddle to find if she had scraped 
her knee upon the uneven ground that had been the cause 
of tripping her. Had she been scratched but in slight 
way; yet I led her on, hoping for a smoother road, till fell 
upon my ears the noise of moving waters. Thereby knew 
I that the Eiver Thames was nigh. Soon could I make out 
amid the mist before me the twinkle of lights, and some 
few moments thereafter came I to an inn that had for its 
sign a falcon. Here did I find fit accommodation for 
myself and beast. 

While was the roan in stable munching her grain, I par- 
took of hearty supper, spread before me in the common 
room by my red-faced and bustling host. When had my 
hunger, and thirst as well, gone from me was I shown to 
the state chamber of the house, where was a large bed 
beneath high canopy, albeit were the curtains much faded 
and might have well stood a wash. Since was I full weary 
from the long day’s ride did I soon drop off to sleep, 


LONDON. 


175 


wherein toward morn dreamed I oft of dear Don Jose, 
now free, and anon limping bravely to the block. When 
I at last awoke I sprang from conch and went to my 
lattice, from the which conld I look ont npon the bosom 
of the river, where I beheld full many barges. Were there 
as well ships with tall masts, and to these same clung 
broad sails. As did my gaze follow along the moving 
stream, perceived I countless buildings, among which rose 
one great place with stone walls of grim look and massive 
build. And knew I at first sight that this same were 
London’s far-famed Tower. 

Was the morning clear and bright, and from the place 
held by the sun in Eastern sky, knew I it were time to 
break my fast. When had I partook of sufficient food of 
substantial kind, and of drink as well, I walked to the 
side of the now fast running Thames, and saw near by a 
landing-place. There found I an old waterman, with face 
much browned and with long grizzled beard, seated in his 
boat. Did he with much readiness bargain to take me to 
the Tower-landing. Stepped I quickly into his craft, 
which he rowed with ease toward the vast fortress. Though 
were this same old waterman most busy with his oars, yet 
had he much vigor left for use in constant wag of his glib 
tongue. Told he in many words how had he five years 
gone by stood on England’s cliffs and from this vantage 
ground had hurled his loud defiance at the great Armada, 
when was the wrath of Heaven, in form of swift destroy- 
ing winds, sweeping o’er her many ships. Was my water- 
man, as drew he nigh the Tower landing, slow to swing in 
his boat, since had he no doubt the wish to finish one small 
tale that had he just begun. When had be brought this 
same to end, and had received the pittance for his service. 


176 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


he placed it in my power to leap ashore. As drew I nigh 
to the Tower drawbridge, which made passage o^er the 
deep, wide moat, I perceived that there stood people with- 
out the gate, as if desiring admittance, the which might 
they not have for the asking. And wore some of these, 
who did thus loiter, most anxious faces. And yet were 
there others who came up and then disappeared within the 
walls, having found easy entrance. When had I reached 
the gate there stood a guard without a wicket through 
which must I needs pass ere could I get within the Tower. 
Was this same guard to my eye of great stature, and 
was his face most ruddy, albeit were there about the 
same a stern look. When stood I before him, as if to ask 
for entrance, did he scowl and demand of me what busi- 
ness had brought me hither. I replied in tone of much 
respect that I had wish to speak with my old tutor, Don 
Jose de Madura, whom had I been told was held within 
under sentence of death. 

^^So, so, my stripling,^^ he said, eyeing me sharply, ^This 
friend of thine is to die. And dost thou know for what 
foul crime the just vengeance of the Law is to be meted 
out to him?’’ 

‘^Nay, sir,” I made reply, “I know not of what charge 
hath he been convicted. And in truth am I of firm belief 
that he hath done naught to merit death.” 

“How, now!” exclaimed the guard with angry glare. 
“Hast thou the hardihood to rail at our just Laws and 
Judges, and to declare they would take away for the mere 
pleasure the lives of innocent men.” 

Then said he in firm tones that I should not pass the 
wicket till had I brought some one to be surety that I 
might be safely sent to the convicted man. As turned I 


LONDON. 


177 


away and passed back o’er the drawbridge, was I minded 
to find Sir Lawrence Warren, the Knight whom had Sir 
Francis named as being known to him, and to ask his in- 
terest to gain for me an entrance to Don Jose’s cell. And 
while seeking direction to his lodgings I fonnd myself upon 
a street of so strange a look as to fill me then with wonder. 
Seemed it on all sides girt about with houses; and in the 
lower part of many of these same were shops, in which 
were exposed for sale things of all sorts and descriptions. 
Were there great throngs of people on foot, some moving 
briskly, and others in loitering way, pausing at shop doors 
and windows. In middle of the way did there stream along 
many upon their horses, and a few coaches, and strong 
carts as well. And were at first my ears confused by the 
loud noises of the bustling street. Though would I have 
in truth been pleased to slowly move amid these scenes 
and closely watch the faces of the passers, and look in at 
doors of many of the shops, yet was I minded that ’twas 
my present business to find at once some one who might 
aid me to pass the bluff guard at the Tower’s wicket. As 
glanced I in the open door of a shop where were exposed 
canes and swords and many other things of different kinds, 
perceived I a man of a most pleasant countenance. Did 
he seem to be the keeper of the shop, and since there were 
none within the place seeking bargains deemed I him a fit 
person to question as to where dwelt the one I sought. 
Ko sooner had I passed the door than came this man 
straight to me with many bows and smiles, and asked what 
would I be pleased to require at his hands. 

“Good friend,” made I reply, “thou wilt do a most 
kindly turn to me, a stranger, by directing me to where 
I may find Sir Lawrence Warren.” 

“l2 


178 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


^^Let me see/^ did he say scratching head in thonghtfnl 
manner for full a moment, ^^do I not recall where Sir 
Lawrence dwells, yet — ” here he seized me by the arm 
and led me to where hung a small sword in neat sheath, 
^^hast thou never seen so good a bargain as this same. Will 
I sell it to thee for five guineas. Nay, if thou art not 
minded to give five, shalt thou take the sword for four 
guineas and twelve shillings. Do I perceive that thine own 
sword is sadly out of fashion, and I wonder not thou dost 
seek to replace it with this same blade which thou wilt 
now make purchase of.” When had I assured him that I 
had no thought of buying then another sword did he, yet 
clinging to my arm, lead me to where stood within a rack 
many canes of varied size and pattern; and went he on 
thus: 

^‘Yet shalt thou at least have cane to carry in thy hand; 
and here are many from among which shalt thou choose 
the one that is the most pleasing to thine eye. This one 
will I part with for two guineas, this for three, and this 
for one guinea and sixteen shillings.” 

When had I made bold to say I was not minded that 
morn to buy a cane, did he grasp my arm yet more tightly, 
if he would have me to believe there was for me no escape 
from out his shop till had I made purchase of some sort. 
And would I no doubt have yielded, since had I no further 
time to waste in this fashion, were it not that there now 
entered the shop a gentleman in rich attire, from whose 
fingers and from the hilt of whose fine sword came the 
sparkle of jewels, and who seemed minded to buy things 
of some value. Perceiving him my captor gave me release, 
and made toward his man with bows and much rubbing 
of hands. When had I reached the street did I wonder 


LONDON. 


179 


if were all shop-keepers in London of same sort as this 
one. Not many yards from thence saw I through the open 
door of yet another shop its keeper waiting no doubt for 
bargains. And went I in to him and asked if he could 
direct me to where I might hope to find Sir Lawrence 
Warren. Shook he his head, and made reply in pleasant 
tone that it were not in his power to aid me thus, else 
would he gladly do the same. Yet did he not ask of me to 
purchase aught of all his wares, though he had upon his 
shelves many gay cloaks and fine apparel of yet other 
kinds. When had I thanked him for his good intent, I 
thought to now ask my question of they whom I should 
pass upon the street. The first one whom I approached 
with end to gaining that knowledge of which I stood in 
need, was a tall young gentleman, with a smooth and 
placid face, and dressed with much of care. When I 
began my question, paused he and bent ear toward me, 
and listened in careful way till had I uttered my last word. 
Then did he look at me with lip curled in scornful manner, 
and made he this reply: 

^Tn faith have I no knowledge where this person may 
be found, nor have I aught of desire to know where he 
dwells. 

Whereat passed this gentleman along in stately way. 
The next person to whom I put this same question had a 
merry face, albeit were his whole apparel much soiled and 
worn. Did he pause and listen to me with look as if of 
much respect; and then slowly opened he his mouth, send- 
ing forth the fume of strong spirits, and while twinkled 
both his eyes, he said: 

“In truth, my friend, I know not now where Larry 
dwells, since is he so oft minded to have change of lodg- 


180 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


ings. And yet last time we met did he say that he would 
send nnto me some bright morning snch as this, and by 
the hand of one young comely friend of his two silver 
shillings, with the which were I to drink the health of the 
sender and of the bearer.” 

Did I deem that this same fellow were worthy of the 
shillings for which he asked, since had he cloaked ^his 
beggar act in so clever way. Drew I forth my purse and 
gave to him the silver coins. As fell the two within his 
hand he bowed low, and in fawning way spoke thus: 

^‘^Beside the health of thy friend and mine. Sir — Sir 
Warren Lawrence, am I charged to drink to that of the 
bearer of this same gift of silver. And did Sir Warren — 
mean I Sir Lawrence fail to make mention of thy name.” 

^^hTay, nay,” said I as turned I from him, ^^let all the 
honor of this thing be with Sir Lawrence.” 

One after the other did I approach three gentlemen 
and ask of them my question; and each in way of some 
courtesy made reply that had he not the knowledge which 
I sought. Next came up to me and placed hand upon my 
shoulder a man of most rough appearance and asked if I 
were then looking for Sir Lawrence Warren. When had I 
declared that I was indeed in search of that same Knight, 
he said that if I would pledge the payment of two shillings 
he would in few moments lead me unto him. Gave I the 
fellow full assurance that should he have the small sum 
which he named, if he would guide me to Sir Lawrence. 
Whereat he led the way, and did I follow close upon his 
heels. Had we gone thus for no great distance when 
turned he aside from the busy street, and entered into a 
narrow way where were naught but old dwellings in seem- 
ing need of much repair. When had he gone along this 


LONDOir. 


181 


some hundred yards, he turned into an alley foul and dark. 
Did I now perceive the fellow was a rogue, 'who was 
minded to lead me to some den, where hoped he with aid 
of comrades of his kind to rob and if need be kill me. 
Paused I without the uninviting place, and called to him 
v/ho would have had me as his prey: 

^'lleve are the two shillings which have I agreed to pay 

theer 

Did I then fling to him the coins. Whereat he picked 
up the same in vexed way; and then with what he did no 
doubt intend for pleasant smile, but which to my eye 
was very far from such, he urged: 

‘^Why art thou afeared, good master? Is this place 
but a short way to the quiet street where lodges good Sir 
Lawrence Warren.” 

‘"‘^So, fellow,” made I reply, “shalt thou go unto Sir 
Lawrence, and say that I would have speech with him at 
corner of yon wide and bustling street.” 

Then turned I on heel and walked back along the path 
which had I followed in the steps of this false guide. Once 
did I look o^er shoulder, and beheld I the rogue coming out 
from his dark alley. Then did he slink away, and quick 
turn a nigh corner. When had I regained the busy street, 
asked I in vain of one old gentleman where might I find 
my guardian’s friend. Scarce had I then made one full 
score of steps when I heard, close behind my ear, a 
woman’s voice. Did I pausing turn head quickly, and 
behold one whom I at first thought might be some grand 
Court lady, since was she decked out in apparel of such 
seeming richness as well as gayety. .Yet when had I 
looked the more closely did I perceive that were her 
cheeks painted far too much beneath her eyes, the which 


182 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


were large and shining. And was there in her look some- 
what of coarseness. As to her garments did my nearer 
glance light on some soiled and faded spots. Yet her 
voice sounded soft and gentle, as in smooth way she said : 

^^My good young gentleman, since thou art minded to 
see Sir Lawrence Warren, will I take much of pleasure 
in showing thee unto the house wherein he dwells.^^ 

Since had I now my reason to look with doubt upon 
guidance proffered in such free way, was I not minded 
to accept of this one’s offer. And while within my mind 
I put in form the excuse I deemed best to offer unto her, 
my glance strayed cross the street, and there fell upon a 
stout gentleman, about whom was that which seemed 
familiar. Looked I more sharply, and then did I perceive 
this one to be none other than the Baron de Wycherly. 
Turning to her who would have been my guide, I bowed 
in courteous way, and said: 

‘^Thanking thee, madam, for this kindly offer, would I 
say that have I no heart to put thee to such pother in the 
matter. Moreover do I behold across the way one who 
hath it in his power to serve me full as well as might our 
friend, good Sir Lawrence.” 

Whereat I left this woman, looking at me in disap- 
pointed way, albeit did she seem to have been in measure 
soothed by my show of courtesy. Having held my path 
through the moving stream that nigh filled the street I 
ran to overtake him who had once been my sire’s neighbor. 


XVI. 


THE TOWEK. 

When had I come up with the haughty lord of Gorley 
Castle and did accost him, paused he and for a moment 
gazed on me in wonder. Then as I named myself to him, 
and he perceived that I was in truth the son of departed 
Sir Philip Wynnington, he said : 

^^Why, my boy, how thou hast grown! Art thou more 
tall and broad than my own Henry, who was thy friend 
when dwelt we for a time at Hazel Lodge. Wilt thou soon 
he going to Court and claiming at the hands of great 
Elizabeth thy knighthood, so that thou shalt be as all thy 
sires have been. And will this thing he fit and right of 
thee. So, so, thou dwelkst with Sir Francis of thy name. 
And now am I minded that my Maud saw thee when did 
she go on visit to her young friend, the daughter of bluff 
Sir Peter Poole. Ah, are they not a twain of sweet young 
maids ?” When had I vowed that of a truth were Maud 
and Amy both fair to look upon, went he on: “Knew 
I, Walter, that thou hadst good eye for such, as have I 
myself, and as hadst thy true sire who, as deserved he right 
well, was much beloved. And now I would ask what is 
the business which has brought thee to noisy London ?” 

Then as I told the Baron how had I come in hope of 
saving my old friend, the soldier of Fortune, or at least 
of seeing him to say farewell, did his brow knit and his 

183 


184 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


head shake back and forth, as if thus to bespeak the truth 
that had he small liking for my plan. When had I come 
to end of naming what I had in mind, he said: 

^^So, Walter, thou would^st keep from the headsman this 
Popish man of Spain who hath brought into the Kingdom 
a written message urging to treason? Was there some 
suspicion of young Squire Canby of Whiteoak, a Papist 
who hath often in secret spoke seditious words. And 
when would this same man have been seized by officers of 
our most gracious’ Sovereign for having strove to incite 
certain ones to rebellious acts, did he fly. And then doth 
land in England, fresh from Spain, your Don Jose, who as 
well was resting under some suspicion. When was he 
seized did the officers entrusted with the task find upon 
him a letter to this Canby signed with a long name which 
is like to that of one of Popish Philip’s most trusted coun- 
sellors. At first reading did this same seem of harmless 
fashion; yet when came the officers to well weigh the 
words, ’twas found that by twisting these in certain way 
a meaning of most evil kind showed itself. In truth was 
this letter writ and designed with end of urging this same 
Canby to sow seeds of discord, and to do aught which 
might lie within his power to bring about uprisings of the 
followers of Eome. And dost thou not perceive, Walter, 
how much of danger there doth lie in failing to punish 
with strong arm such acts as this ?” 

Urged I in behalf of Don Jose that might he have had 
no knowledge that there was evil in this letter ; but did the 
Baron, again with many shakes of head, declare that much 
wiser ones than myself had gone well into this same 
matter, and were firm in their belief of the old man’s 
guilt. And hence would it be most unreasoning in me 


THE TOWER. 


185 


to set up my doubts gainst their true knowledge. When 
had he paused for full a moment did he assume more 
kindly tone, and say: 

^‘Yet, Walter, is it in truth not strange that thou 
shouldst wish to see thy old tutor ere they shall behead 
him; and may I be of some service in gaining for thee 
entrance to the Tower.” 

While offered I unto the Baron what seemed to me a 
fit expression of my gratitude for this proffered aid, were 
we already bending steps toward the grim stronghold. 
When had we at length reached the drawbridge, did my 
Lord de Wycherly bid me remain without while went he in 
to seek the Governor of the place. Perceived I that the 
same guard who had refused to grant me entrance now 
stood aside in way of much respect when passed there 
through the wicket my new patron. Had I not tarried 
long among they, who like to myself had not found favor 
in the eyes of the bluff keeper of the wicket, when came 
there out a messenger to say that had the Governor given 
consent that Master Wynnington should be taken unto his 
friend who lay under sentence within. And as passed I 
through the wicket did the great guard give shrug of 
shoulders, as if there were now within his mind the 
thought that whatever of mischief I should work wuthin 
the place, might there no blame be laid for such thing at 
his door. The messenger led the way through what then 
seemed many passages, and up many flights of echoing 
steps. Went I long years thereafter through the Tower, 
yet seemed it not at such time so vast and strange as did 
it look in my youthful eyes, when passed I to see Don 
Jose in his cell. While went I thus along I noted that 
was the messenger a youth like myself in size and years. 


186 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


yet of a grave countenance and minded not to ntter one 
word more than for which might he have pressing need. 
Beheld I many warders, of whom the most were at their 
duties. And in the faces of these same did I perceive ex- 
pectant air, as if each one were looking forward to the 
time when he should rest with pot of ale and food he liked 
before him. Had such warders as loitered in the passages 
a listless look ; and were these no doubt thinking that they 
were soon to go about their tasks. Yet was there upon the 
faces of they who acted, or they who rested, naught that 
would seem to show that they in least way heeded the 
grim truth that there were now within those walls men 
who were, mayhap for no wrong deed, condemned to die. 
At length did my guide pause nigh to a certain cell-door, 
without the grating of which stood a warder listening with 
attentive ear to one who spoke within. Then heard I the 
familiar voice of Don Jose. Was he giving description of 
one of those amusing scenes which had it been his wont 
throughout his long career to note and store away in his 
true memory. As did he bring this tale to end, the warder 
hurst into loud laughter, from which he shook for some 
moments. Then wiping tears from out the corners of his 
eyes, he said to the condemned one : 

‘‘Might I in truth listen to thee, friend, for every hour 
that am I on watch. And will I he loath to part with 
thee, which thing I much fear shall come to pass upon 
the morrow.” 

How did my guide say to the warder that had I per- 
mission from the Governor to have speech with this same 
prisoner. Whereat was the cell door quick unlocked, and 
stood I face to face with my old friend. Gazed he at me 
in wonder till had he assured himself that I were none 


THE TOWER. 


187 


other than the Walter whom had he taught many things. 
Then did he clasp me within his arms, and say it gave 
unto him deep pleasure to behold me again. When asked 
I of him concerning the letter to Squire Canby, whereby 
had he been brought unto this sore strait, he looked into 
my face in most frank and open way, and made this reply : 

^^My Walter, as truly as I now live, and as truly as shall 
I upon the morrow die, did I bring that same letter into 
England in all good faith, and dreaming not that there 
were aught of harm within its lines. Came I cross seas 
to this land with view to receiving that same Missal, the 
which thy dear sire bequeathed to me. The letter writ 
to Squire Canby was placed within my hands by one who 
was to me a stranger, and who did seem a most plain and 
honest gentleman. Nor would I deem him to be one who 
had e^er cut figure at the Court. Though have I heard 
this letter read, do I not perceive how any man can find 
in its plain words the twisted and distorted meaning which 
have my accusers given unto the same. Were it but an 
offer of exchange. The writer, whose name was not one 
I had e’er heard afore, did make proposal to send unto 
Canby sheep of a certain breed of Spain, if in return the 
Squire would send to him the same number of an English 
breed which was he minded to have. And my accusers 
avow that beneath these simple lines comes an offer to 
send Spanish gold to buy Englishmen for seditious work 
in the cause of Eome.” 

^‘My friend,” did I now exclaim, ^^doth it seem most 
strange and wicked that thou shouldst be called upon to 
give thy life for such a reason! And before thou shalt 
undergo this unjust sentence shall I, thy pupil once, stand 
before the great Elizabeth and plead thy cause!” 


188 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


The old man smiled upon me in most pleasant way at 
this proof of the love which I yet had for him. And 
then with grave look and shake of head, said he this : 

^^Nay, Walter, would I in truth not have thee take upon 
thyself so much of pother in this thing. My peril is not 
of so grave a sort as might it have been.” 

‘‘Why, sir,” I asked, “didst thou not thyself make men- 
tion of the truth that thou hast been condemned to 
death.” 

“Yea,” made he reply, “will I meet death; but Twill be 
a small matter of beheading me. One quick blow, and so 
much as doth appertain to this world is o’er. Now were 
it a matter of tying my four limbs unto wild horses of 
that same number, or of roasting me alive at slow fire, or 
of walling me in some foul dungeon to slowly die of thirst 
and hunger, might I have sense of some uneasiness, and 
mayhap before the morn some unhappy dreams. But as 
’tis, have I cause for much of cheerfulness. For, truth to 
tell, my Walter, have I grown somewhat weary of limping 
on this chill path of life. Are there within my breast the 
memories of some disappointments, the which would I 
fain forget forever.” 

Did I not urge my friend to recall these words, and 
give approval of my plan to seek the presence of the Queen, 
with hope of making plain to her his innocence; yet in 
my heart had I already made resolve that I should venture 
upon this same enterprise. Spoke I to him of other 
matters, and was there a thing now said which brought to 
him reminder of a certain bloodthirsty yet most comic 
knave, who had served in a company of his which fought 
is one of the religious wars of France. And told he in so 
amusing way of the acts and words of that same de- 


THE TOWER. 


189 


stroyer of life and creator of mirth, that for the time did it 
slip my mind how was he in truth condemned to die, and 
that had I come to take of him a farewell, which might 
prove our last. When did I deem it high time to he off 
for Greenwich Palace, where had I been told the Queen 
then held her Court, I asked of him if he had been given 
food that were to his taste. Made he reply that had 
all that was required to sustain life been brought unto 
him, but that since was there no money in his purse came 
there naught in way of luxury into his cell. Yet he de- 
clared that he minded not this thing, since had he so long 
been used to soldier fare. 

‘‘Then, Don Jose,” said I, “thou shalt have one good 
supper in the Tower, and shalt thou have this same at 
my expense.” 

“Do I give thee hearty thanks for this, my Walter.” 
Was there slight glisten, like to that of one stray tear in 
each eye, as spoke the old man this. “And will I relish 
all, e’en to the smallest morsel which I eat, and for thy 
dear sake, oh, best of friends.” 

Then did I take leave of him. Smiled he in pleasant 
way as he embraced me, and was there now no trace of 
moisture in his eyes. Nor were there tears in mine; for 
was now hope busy within my young breast. Wished he 
myself, as when last time we parted, all of success and 
happiness. When had the door been locked again, drew 
I the warder to one side and in whisper asked of him 
what would be the cost of a good supper of fat pullet and 
soft bread with some other things that would go well with 
these. And did I say a flask of red Spanish wine was a 
matter which ’twould be most ill to overlook. As I made 
mention of these things wore the man a look as if he were 


190 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


weighing well the price of each. At length did he open 
lips, and name to me a certain sum; yet chanced I to per- 
ceive just then a twinkle within his eyes, such as may 
he seen in those of clever ones when make they bargains 
by the which feel they assured of profit. Then came there 
into my mind the thought that this warder might himself 
have pressing need of the very sum which had he just fixed 
upon. And might this same lack of money stand betwixt 
Don Jose and that which would I fain have him to eat 
and drink. Took I out my purse and said: 

^^Now, my friend, will I pay you for two suppers of the 
kind that have we come to agreement on. And shall you- 
yourself have one, while is the other to he taken in to 
our brave old friend, Don Jose.” 

Whereat gave I to him twice the sum which had he asked 
for the one supper. As put he the money in his pocket 
he looked at me in somewhat sheepish way, and thus did 
seem to me to make admission that I were right to so sus- 
pect him of having in mind a scurvy act. Then grasped 
he my hand and declared that should the convicted 
man have the full supper, from which would there not be 
defrauded one crumb nor one drop. Went I now back 
along the path which had I taken while had I guidance 
unto Don Josefs cell. Strayed I more than once from 
off the way, to the which was I each time shown again by 
some warder. At last went I out into the open air by the 
same wicket I had come in at. There I beheld the bluff 
guard who had at first denied me entrance. Did he now 
glance at me sharply, as if he feared that I had brought 
out from the Tower some thing of value which had I not 
rightly come by. Then of a sudden changed his mood. 


THE TOWER. 


101 


and in a tone of banter called he ont after me, as walked 
I from him : 

^^How now, my yonng gentleman, dost thou have suc- 
cess in the enterprise of setting free the ancient one?” 

^^Of that, friend,” made I reply, as I paused and turned 
me half around, ‘Vill we both know in way of certainty 
upon the morrow.” 


192 


SIB WALTER OF KENT, 


XVIL 

ELIZABETH, THE QUEEH. 

Wheh had I reached the landing did I ask of one who 
loitered there if I might, by taking passing barge npon 
the river, come nigh to Greenwich Palace. Made he 
reply by pointing to a trim craft ont upon the river. Was 
this manned by stout oarsmen, and within were certain 
others, whom I found thereafter were as well as I minded 
to go unto the Court of England’s Queen. Did the helms- 
man now cause the barge to swing in toward the landing. 
Strove I to give expression of my thanks unto the one 
who had pointed out this same barge to me, hut was he 
then so intent at watching they which sat within the same, 
that gave he no heed to what I said. When had come the 
barge in close to shore called out the helmsman that they 
who had wish to go to Greenwich Palace should stand 
ready to get quickly aboard. As were there none other 
than myself then at the landing who were so minded, did 
the boat make but short pause. I leaped on board in 
nimble way, and scarce had I found seat when I per- 
ceived that the barge was already moving out toward the 
middle of the stream. Looked the helmsman at me in 
sharp manner when he took of me my toll. Did I note 
that they in company with whom I were journeying to 
Greenwich Palace, were dressed in rich garments, and held 
high their heads. When spoke one of them to another 


ELIZABETH, THE QUEEN. 


193 


was it in soft tone, and with graceful inclination of the 
head, and as well of gesture. Though I now perceived 
all this, yet were my thoughts intent the while on how 
I should best plead the cause of Don Jose, when stood I 
before the proud Elizabeth. Did I on this same matter 
ponder deep, and weigh well what I should say. Though 
came we nigh to other landings, yet were there at none of 
these same persons who waited to come aboard. At last 
did the boat reach the Greenwich landing; and then my 
companions rose to foot and stepped in stately way upon 
the shore. Felt I assured that I had but to follow at 
the heels of these same gentlemen. 

When I had come to the entrance of Greenwich Palace, 
I found there two tall and grim guards with shining 
breast-plates and burnished arms. Yet were they mute 
and motionless, and seemed not to heed my throng of rich- 
clad guides, nor yet my humble self, as passed we slowly 
and with uncovered heads into the wide and lofty hahs. 
Had I made not many steps upon the polished floor when 
came there to me an officer in gay attire, and with hand 
at hilt of his fine sword. In gentle voice, yet meanwhPe 
looking at me in searching way, he asked what business 
might have brought me there. Then in few words did 1 
tell him that my friend had been condemned in unjust 
manner, and that had I wish to plead for him before her 
gracious Majesty. Shook he his head, as if to give ex- 
prsession of his doubt of my bringing to success this enter- 
prise. Then he said : 

^^Shalt thou. Master Wynnington, in turn have chance 
to speak with our Sovereign. Yet shalt thou first exercise 
much of patience. So follow me.'’’ 

Then he led the :way unto a certain room, in which 
13 


194 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


perceived I many chairs and as well two tables. When 
had he motioned to me to take here a seat, did the officer 
depart. When glanced I around I beheld in a corner three 
gentlemen, with heads together in what seemed to be the 
settlement of some point of much weight. And whatever 
this might have been, spoke they one and all in low 
whisper. Presently there came in the room another 
officer, attired in same fashion as was he who had guided 
me thither, and made he motion to the three. Then did 
they in eager way rise to their feet and follow this one 
from the room, since had they no doubt been summoned 
into the presence of the Queen. Scarce had they left 
when in came two gentlemen, who sat down nigh to each 
other, yet seemed not minded to converse. Was one of 
the twain a stout, red-faced man, who with head sunk for- 
ward and eyes fixed upon the fioor, looked to be deep lost 
in thought. The other, who was of spare make, did move 
about upon his chair in most restless fashion, and kept 
eyes upon the doorway. From time to time came there in 
other gentlemen who took seat and waited, some with air 
of patience, and some in restless way. And did they all 
receive their summons from some officer and go out, leav- 
ing me at length alone. Grew I uneasy as the hours wore 
by, from the fear that good Queen Bess, in giving audience 
unto many, might become so weary that would she not he 
minded to listen with a patient ear when should come my 
turn to have speech with her. At least there entered this 
room the same officer who had long since shown me 
thither. Did he look at me in way of much surprise, the 
which am I of firm belief was feigned, and said in tone 
that now had in it some of harshness: 

^AVhat, thou art yet here ! Has no one come to summon 


ELIZABETH, THE QUEEN. 


195 


thee to enter the Queen’s presence?” When had I told 
him that my long and patint waiting were yet vain, did 
he shake head in vexed manner and say : ‘‘Then wouldst 
thou do well to go now hence, and come again upon the 
morrow.” 

“Yet, sir,” I urged, “the friend, for whose life come T 
here to beg, is like to go unto the block at early morn.” 

“Is thy plea. Master Wynnington, one that brings to 
me much of vexation,” went he on in frowning way, albeit 
did he not look me in the face. “I will now show what 
is the most I may do in this matter. Follow me.” 

Led this officer the way from the room, and through 
broad hallways to an apartment like to the one where I 
had waited. Made he motion to me to take seat, and then 
did he point through a door which opened into a wide 
state-chamber. Hung there upon the walls of this large 
paintings, and on a table of costly make were many parch- 
ments. Were the hangings all of rich texture; and could 
I perceive from where I sat naught that failed to speak 
of great luxury. Had I scarce time to note all this, when 
the officer in low tone, yet in way designed to impress well 
upon me his words, said this : 

“When comes back the Queen from her walk amid the 
gardens, will she enter yonder chamber. Then will she 
instruct one of her Secretaries touching certain letters 
that he shall write for her; and may she likewise give 
audience to some great nobles from yond seas. Watch 
well thy time, and when she doth seem to be at leisure 
for the moment, go thou in unto her in fit way of humble- 
ness, and say to her what thou hast in mind, and in as few 
words as thou canst put the same. Yet if thou should^^t 
presume to draw nigh to her when is she on aught else 


196 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


intent, and should thereby arouse her anger, say not that 
an officer brought thee hither and gave thee this counsel. 
In truth look I to thee. Master Wynnington, to take upon 
thine own shoulders all the danger of this thing/^ 

^^Sir,” did I then reply, ^Vill I in most cheerful fashion 
bear myself all of evil which may result from any blunder 
of word or act that I chance to make in this same mutter.’^ 
Then offered I to him my thanks for that he had shown 
to me so much of kindness, though to this made he a 
small acknowledgement in way of one slight nod. When 
had he gone, I sat with ear strained toward the open door 
of the state chamber and listened for the coming of the 
Queen. Had many moments fled when fell there on my 
ears the sound of a woman^s voice; and as came this nearer 
did I note that the tone was of commanding sort. Next 
there came into view and stood nigh to the table a lady 
whose face was turned so that I might behold full one half 
of this. And had I not cause to gaze at the same for 
more than one instant to know of a surety that this was 
Elizabeth of England. Were there faint lines upon the 
cheek I saw, which I afterward set down to care. Was the 
robe she wore of costly cloth, yet could I not name the 
color, nor yet the fashion of the make, since had I then, as 
ever since, small eye for such things. Did I note the red- 
dish tinge upon her hair, though would I be loath to vow 
she wore not then a wig. Though had she come to age of 
sixty years, she yet stood erect. But that about her which 
did the most impress itself on me, youth though I were, 
was her mien, the which deemed I majestic. As she spoke 
again I perceived that there had come unto her now one 
of her Secretaries, a gentleman of some forty years, whose 
long face wore a look of deep respect, albeit was there 


ELIZABETH, THE QUEEN. 


197 


nringled with this same an anxious shade. Sat he at the 
table, and picked out from the many parchments a certain 
one, which he smoothed out with seeming care, and then 
taking up pen did he look up to the Queen, as if asking 
v/hat words she was minded to have him set down. Then 
she asked : 

^^What was the thing we were intent upon when came 
last time to interrupt that messenger?” 

^^Was I then, may it please your Majesty,” he replied in 
tone of much reverence, ^Vriting down what you had wish 
to say to the Bishop of — ” 

“ISTow do we recall the matter,” made she interruption. 
‘^Hadst thou begun to write to this same Lord spiritual, 
who hath too high regard for his own rights, and too small 
for those of his Sovereign. Were set down by thee some 
things which we do of a verity expect and demand that he 
shall do.” Made to her the Secretary acknowledgment 
that had he before writ down as she had said. Then in 
firmer voice, and with gesture that bespoke some slight 
glow of wrath, spoke she this: shalt thou go on 

to write to this same too haughty Bishop — ^unless thou 
shalt do as hast thou herein been given direction, by God, 
sir, I will unfrock thee !’ ” 

Whereat the Secretary glanced up at the face of Eliza- 
beth, as if to assure himself that had she in truth the 
wish that he should write down the self same words which 
had she just spoken. Then did she toss high her head, 
and bringing down her fingers with strong taps upon the 
table’s edge, said she in stern voice: 

"'Have I told thee what to write, and yet thou hast 
hardihood to stare idly at me. Set down at once each and 
every word which have I uttered.” 


198 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Did now the man quick drop his eyes, and with look 
of meekness bent he o’er the parchment and wrote. When 
had he finished with this same letter to the Bishop, the 
name of whom came not unto my ear, he read unto her a 
petition from certain of her subjects in Cornwall, who 
deemed themselves to have been wronged by act of officers 
of her own naming. Then spoke she in vexed tone of the 
worry which were her chosen officers ever causing for her, 
albeit were she wont to make selection of these with 
great care. And likewise did she give expression to her 
wonder that so many of her subjects had such small re- 
gard for her peace of mind as to annoy her with petitions, 
instead of bearing such trifles for her sake in cheerfulness. 
In speaking thus the Queen let fall some two or three 
round oaths that would in truth have done credit to the 
tongue of a right doughty King. When had she bid the 
Secretary to write unto those same officers of hers in 
Cornwall, commanding them to make full amends for the 
unjust acts which had the petition named, did I perceive 
that there had come o’er her face a change, and that wore 
she now a most gracious look. 

Was the cause of this no less than the coming of two 
courtly gentlemen of foreign look, and clad in rich attire. 
Sparkled jewels from their hands, and as well from the 
hilts of their polished swords. As went they bowing up 
to her, did first the elder and then in turn the younger, 
bend o’er the hand of great Elizabeth and kiss the same in 
most gallant fashion. And uttered both, albeit in most 
broken English, many compliments, the which she re- 
ceived with expression of much pleasure upon her coun- 
tenance. Spoke the younger with strong accent of France, 
yet did he so distort my mother tongue that would I have 


ELIZABETB, THE QUEEN. 


199 


wished to have gone in nnto him and begged of him to 
use his own language, while of his words would I render 
true translation to her Majesty. I deemed the elder gen- 
tleman to be some small German prince. Did he, full as 
much as his companion, twist and deform his English 
speech. Yet seemed not the Queen in least to mind the 
rude handling which was her own language thus receiving 
from the twain. Made they much flourish in way of ges- 
ture, and swayed about while oft bowing, though was 
there grace in all their actions. Yor was she minded to 
either stand or hold her head in steady fashion. More 
than once did she assure air of coquette, full many years 
more youthful than three score. Would she as well sim- 
per, and make grimace that mayhap would have done well 
enough for some giddy maid. Did I marvel at thought 
that it was she who had such little time before borne her- 
self in right majestic way. When at length were this 
audience at end, and had withdrawn the twain, stood 
Elizabeth lost in pleasant thought, and swaying and toss- 
ing head as if in response to fancied compliments. Then 
of a sudden she chanced to look into the outer room, 
where had I sat and intently watched her. As she per- 
ceived me, came there upon her brow a frown. Did I now 
deem it wise to make my throw of chance. Eising to foot 
I stepped forward in brisk way, and as I drew nigh to her 
I bowed low. Then dropped I upon one knee and gazed 
up into the royal countenance with look in which was I 
minded to show admiration as well as reverence. Did now 
her frown give place to slight blush of pleasure, which had 
come no doubt from my admiring glance. Then said she 
in tone of some graciousness : 

^^Kise, stripling, and tell me who thou art.’^ 


200 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


^^May it please your Majesty, I am Walter Wynning- 
ton,’^ I made reply when had I arisen. ^^Am I son and 
heir of Sir Philip Wynnington, of Merton in Kent, whom 
God took hence now more than seven months gone by.^’ 

^^Do I recall thy sire,” said the Queen with slight nod. 
^^Kow tell me what thou hast come to ask of me.” 

“May it please your gracious Majesty, have I come to 
implore thee to weigh for thyself fully the charges 
brought gainst Don Jose de Madura, who hath been con- 
demned to die upon the morrow. Was he my sire’s friend, 
and my own tutor; and am I of firm belief that is he fully 
innocent of wrong doing.” 

Came there back the frown upon the great Queen’s 
brow; and at same time did I note a smile of slight dis- 
dain upon the bent face of Master Secretary, as if he much 
wondered that I had assurance to thus plead for this 
man’s life. Looking at me sharply, Elizabeth said : 

“Dost thou know what thou art saying. Master Wyn- 
nington? Hath not my Court of Law, by the which was 
the trial of this Don Jose had, declared that he did bring 
into our realm from yond seas a letter urging a rebellious- 
minded subject to acts of treason gainst us? Wouldst 
thou, striping as thou art, set thyself up in way of judg- 
ment above our learned men of Law ?” 

“May it please your gracious Majesty,” I did plead, yet 
striving to mingle admiration with my look of suppliant 
respect, “the letter which brought he unto thy Kingdom, 
in all good faith as doth he declare, urged no one to trea- 
son, but proposed, as a mere transaction of exchange, to 
give certain Spanish sheep for English sheep. But have 
thy loyal officers of law, no doubt from excess of zeal for 
their beloved Sovereign distorted the simple words and 


ELIZABETH, TEE QUEEN. 


201 


twisted the same till might they seem to express wicked 
and dangerous designs. May I tell to your gracious Maj- 
esty what I know of Don J ose ?” 

Then did nod the Queen, upon whose face had the 
frown gave way to thoughtful look, and moving to a rich- 
carved chair she sat for the first time since I had beheld 
her. Then told I my royal listener how had my friend 
and tutor upon the frightful Eve of St. Bartholomew 
saved the de Brecys from the assassins. E’ext did I tell 
how cherished he regard for the land where had he found 
shelter, when of that same had he stood in great need. 
Next I pictured him as one who had ever fought his up- 
right foe in open way, scorning to stoop to secret acts of 
trickery. As told I of the poor man’s wounded heart 
when had he perceived that he might not hope to gain the 
love of the certain fair one whose life had he saved, did 
the Queen make much show of interest. Then came I to 
end of what I had to say by an appeal in earnest words 
that might not my sire’s trusted friend be sent to the 
block when were there no clear proofs of guilt. Eose now 
the Queen, and going to a small table took from the same 
a polished sword, with which she paced as with a cane 
back and forth for nigh two score steps. Then in sudden 
way turned she to myself, and said : 

^Ts it exceeding fortunate for Don J ose that he was the 
friend of Sir Philip Wynnington, of whom do I well re- 
member both face and bearing when rode I among my 
loyal Britains who had come together that they might 
meet the hordes of Spain. And then did I mark thy 
knightly sire as one who, if they of the Armada might 
swarm ashore, would be in foremost rank to hurl them 
back into the sea!” Paced she again some steps with 


202 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


sword as cane, and then went on thns: ^^Shall Don Jose 
not go to block upon the morrow, as have many whose 
guilt was not truly proven. Now, since hath there been 
much of foreign urging of our disloyal subjects to bring 
about dissensions, deem we it wise to have thy friend com 
veyed beyond seas. Yet hath he much cause to he grate- 
ful to thee, his old pupil, since hast thou in truth saved 
his life.” 

Was I quickly weighing what words I might best use 
to give expression of my gratitude and joy, when did the 
Queen lift her sword and say: 

‘^And now, good Walter, shall we find pleasure in be- 
stowing upon thee honor of knighthood.” 

^^Knighthood, your Majesty!” said I in wonder, for had 
I not dreamed of such a thing. ‘^Am I in truth of fitting 
age for honors like to these?” 

^^Care I not what thy age may he, for since thou hast 
come thus to succor the weak and the distressed, hast thou 
shown qualities of knightly sort. Therefore dost thou 
deserve the title which thy sire bore so well. Kneel !” 

Then I sank on knees with bowed head before Eliza- 
beth, who did tap me lightly on the shoulder with the 
sword, and said: 

Arise, Sir Walter Wynnington.” 

Now I slowly rose to foot, and perceiving that were her 
left hand extended out beyond her girdle some little way, 
did I take the same and press it with my lips, meanwhile 
bowing low and looking upward at my Sovereign again 
with look of reverence mingled with admiration. And 
once more came there the slight blush of seeming pleasure 
upon her face, as gave me she a quick nod and likewise a 
gracious smile. Then made she a gesture as if dismissing 


ELIZABETH, TEE QUEEN. 


203 


me, and turned unto her Secretary, upon whose face did 
I note a look as if he were ill-pleased that a stranger lad 
should meet with such favor at the royal hands. Would 
it have been vain for me to have striven to make further 
expression of my gratitude, since was the Queen, still with 
sword in hand, intent upon a piece of parchment which 
lay before her on the table. 

Now withdrew I into the ante-chamber, and from 
thence gained a hallway which had I remembrance of 
having passed through before. Next strayed I from the 
right path and into a room where sat some officers in con- 
verse. Glanced up one in angry way, and did he tell me 
that I should have turned to left instead of right. Gave 
I this man thanks, not for his courtesy, but for his having 
in his snappish fashion given me somewhat of guidance. 
When walked I by the room, where had I first passed time 
in waiting, I perceived therein a gentleman with anxious 
face, who was no doubt tarrying for audience with the 
Queen. 

^Triend,” thought I, ^^God grant that thou shalt leave 
this place with as light a heart as have I within me now.” 

When had I reached the Palace entrance, I heard quick 
footsteps behind me, and turning I perceived the self same 
officer who had guided me unto the Queen’s ante-chamber. 
Did he now smile in most pleasant way and grasping my 
hand, he said: 

^^Kight glad am I, Sir Walter Wynnington, to know that 
in following as thou didst my counsel, thou hast received 
at the hands of our gracious Sovereign the boon which 
thou didst beg of her. In truth hast thou right to now 
take in thyself great pride.” 

Did I thank this gentleman for the kindness of his 


204 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


words ; 3^et perceived I then that he looked to me for more 
than this. And was I minded that he had been of much 
service to me in getting to the ear of good Elizabeth. So 
I asked of him if he were like to take offence, if one in- 
debted to his good offices should wish to make him present 
of some few golden coins. Did he shake head in smiling 
wa3% and make reply: 

‘‘Xay, Sir Walter, am I not moved with such ease to 
wrath.’’ 

Whereat I took from out my purse five guineas, with 
intent to give these and no more to the officer. Yet did 
the coins, when lay they upon my palm, seem too few to 
offer such a gentleman for such a service as had he ren- 
dered me. So drew I out five more pieces, and placed the 
ten in the hand of this same officer. And, when had he 
given thanks for these, was he minded to say that he 
knew of certain worthy people, who through ill-fortune 
had fallen into sore distress, the which had been at times 
relieved by the bounty of suppliants at Court. And would 
it please him to become my almoner in this matter. Gave 
I to him three guineas for his distressed ones, albeit did 
I suspect that the beings for whom he begged were none 
but his own self. And now at parting he said : 

^^Do I pray God that thou. Sir Walter Wynnington, 
shalt live in health and happiness till thou art long past 
the age of thine ancient friend whose life thou hast this 
day saved.” 

When had I made acknowledgment of his words and 
had turned away, I beheld close at hand the Baron de 
Wycherly gazing at me with look of much wonder. Then 
did he, with eyes opened to full width, ask of me : 

“What is this I hear, my boy ? Do my ears play on me 


ELIZABETH, THE QUEEN. 


205 


some trick of scurvy kind, or did that officer of the 
Queen’s household call thee Sir Walter Wynnington ?” 

“In truth, sir,” made I then reply, “he so called me, 
since is that same my name and title.” 

“’Tis your name surely, yet when came to you the 
title?” 

“Sir,” said I with respectful how, “came that same to 
me some few moments now gone by, with certain taps of 
light fashion upon my shoulder from a sword in the fair 
right hand of good Queen Bess.” 

“And spoke the officer as well of some ancient friend 
whose life thou didst save.” 

“True, sir, did he have in mind none other than Don 
Jose, whose life will the Queen spare, albeit sending him 
beyond seas.” 

“And hath she done this thing — ah — Sir Walter, at thy 
intercession ?” 

“ ’Tis true, sir, that I strove to show that were my tutor 
not guilty of the charge for which was he condemned to 
death; and did I as well beg of her that he might not be 
sent to block on such small proof.” 

And now stood the Baron de Wycherly deep pondering, 
as if he comprehended not how this might have come to 
pass. Moved his lips in slight way, yet came there forth 
no words. Did I deem that he had lost for the moment 
power of speech by reason of that same perplexity into 
which had he been thrown. Yet knowing full well that 
would his use of tongue come back to him in due time, 
I took my leave of him in way of much respect, albeit did 
he no more than gaze after me with blank look. And 
then, as walked I in brisk way toward the river side, I 
perceived that the sun had sunk low. Likewise had I 


206 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


now a sense of hunger, the which had not come to me 
through the hours of long waiting. When had I reached 
the landing, I found that I were like to tarry there some 
while ere came along the barge which I should take. 
Might I have walked along the Kent and Surrey shore, 
and thus have come to my inn. Yet did I deem it wise to 
await the barge. And when at length I stood upon its 
planks, came there the thought that, among the divers 
persons who sat there, were none with such cause for 
thankfulness as had Sir Walter Wynnington. Was I not 
now minded to take seat, so stood I alone, gazing out upon 
the waters. And thus did I float in triumph toward the 
Tower. 


XYIII. 


THE KHIGHT^S HOME-COMING. 

Would I have wished to land upon the Surrey shore of 
Thames, nigh to my inn. Yet went the barge upon the 
other side of the broad stream, so that when came I to 
step ashore I found before me once again the high walls, 
which did I now rejoice to think were like to hold Don 
J ose for but yet a little while. Made I then haste to find 
some pleasant cook-shop; and came I soon upon just such 
a place as had I wish to enter. Then did I with supper, 
of right good fowl, well roasted, and a small fiask of red 
wine from a tavern hard by, make some amends for loss 
of that day^s dinner. And while consuming much I 
thought that mayhap at that same moment was Don Jose 
enjoying in his Tower cell the supper which had I caused 
to he sent him, and which he deemed no doubt to be his 
last feast. When at length had I paid my reckoning, and 
went forth into the busy streets with cheerful sense of 
hunger well appeased, was darkness falling. Then per- 
ceived I lights within shops and houses, while bore many 
persons torches and yet others held lanterns, lighting in 
dim way the restless scene. Was I now minded to gain 
the Tower-landing with end to crossing to my inn; and as 
I walked along came I upon a throng which stood without 
the lighted window of a shop. Then felt I a hand upon 
my shoulder, and turning, I saw a stranger attired in a 


208 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


shabby way, who looked me sharply in the face, and said : 

‘^Crave I thy pardon, young master, for did I take thee 
to be no less than the son of old Squire Kirby of Corn- 
wall, whom have I known well these ten years. Art thou 
like to him in shape and way of motion. Yet do I now 
perceive thou art more full in face than he.” 

Gave I the man assurance that were I in no way put out 
at this his error, and then I pressed quickly through the 
throng. Was there now moonlight, and did the Tower to 
my eyes look vaster than had it seemed in day. And as I 
passed it by came there into my mind the thought that if 
my old tutor know not of his deliverance until the morn, 
would his sleep that night he none the less sound and 
peaceful. At the Tower-landing came I on one ancient 
waterman, with long white locks, who bargained to row 
me cross the Thames. And, unlike him who had ferried 
me before, was this man full as grave and silent as old 
Charon of the Styx. When had he guided his small bark 
up to the landing on the Surrey side nigh to my inn, and 
I had stepped ashore, did I put hand in pocket for my 
purse. Then to my dismay found I that was this gone. 
Then came the thought that had the stranger who stopped 
me on the crowded way but made pretence that he took mo 
for young Kirby. And was I now of full belief that while 
had this fellow my attention, some comrade of his own 
thrust quick his hand into my pocket and drew forth my 
purse. Yet was I minded that it would be vain for me to 
seek to get back my own. But as I made search in pocket 
I found some coins of silver, which had I thrust therein 
when came I from the cook-shop. Thus was I able now to 
give to this old waterman his full toll. When came I to 


THE KNIGHrs HOME-COMING. 


209 


the Falcon Inn, sat in his doorway my host, who asked of 
me how I had fared throughout the day. 

^^In truth, friend,” made I reply, ^^have I fared both 
well and ill this day.” 

“In what way hast thou fared ill, my young gentle- 
man?” 

“Came there hand of some rogue within my pocket and 
took from thence my last guinea.” 

“How now ?” did the man exclaim, rising to his feet in 
uneasy way, and looking at me with suspicion in his eye. 
Then demanded he in harsh voice : “Yet how shalt thou 
pay thy reckoning to me, standing as do I in need of every 
penny of the same ?” 

“As to that,” said I in cool fashion, “have I not in thy 
stable a good fleet mare that will on the morrow fetch far 
more than the amount of this small reckoning of mine ?” 

“Is that same mare well enough, young gentleman; yet 
may the true owner of a beast lay claim unto such where- 
soever he chances upon it. And how know I that thou 
hast come in honest way by the mare ?” 

“'Dost thou mean to say, man, there is aught about my 
look that gives color to suspicion that I lack honesty ?” 

“Are the looks of one not always proof of what he is,” 
said my host. “Have I in faith been taken in by more 
than one rogue of honest look. Canst thou name no man 
in London who will go surety for thee that thou art 
honest, and seek’st not to impose on me ?” 

“Am I full sure that will the Baron de Wycherly vouch 
that I would tell thee no untruth.” 

“Know I naught of this, thy Baron de — whatever may 
he his name ? Canst tell me where he dwells ?” 

14 


210 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


“As to that may I not say, albeit I saw and had speech 
with him some few hours since at Court/^ Whereat did 
my host laugh in scornful way, since no doubt he deemed 
that I had spoke this thing in jest. Next I said: “Has 
my guardian, Sir Francis Wynnington, of Bidwell, in this 
same County of Surrey, friends in London to whom he 
said I might go, should I chance to have need of aught. 
One of these gentlemen whom he named is Sir Lawrence 
Warren.^^ 

“Know I not who may be thy Knight. But canst thou 
take me to him 

“Nay,” made I reply with smile at thought of my vain 
search for Sir Lawrence in the bustling street, “might we 
not find it easy task to reach his lodgings.” 

“Ho, my young gentleman, hast thou the assurance 
again to name one to vouch for thee, when can he not be 
found ?” 

“Yet, friend, shall I name to the one gentleman who 
hath known me right well, and likewise may I say where 
he doth lodge. Is he Don Jose de Madura, and hath he 
for some little time dwelt just across the Thames within 
the Tower.” 

“What villainy hath he done to thus earn him lodgings 
there ?” did my host ask with a sneer. 

“He is true man and upright, and on the morrow will 
be set free. Yet since will he then at once go yond seas 
am I minded to give rather the name of yet another; and 
this one wilt thou deem a full and sufficient surety for 
myself. And likewise is her dwelling easy to be found.” 

“So this one, my young gentleman, doth chance to be a 
woman. Is she maid, wife or widow ?” 


THE KNIGHTS HOME-COMING. 


211 


she yet maiden, albeit a royal one. In truth do I 
name now as one to vouch for me, Elizabeth our Queen.” 

^^Hast thou stood in presence of her?” exclaimed my 
host with wonder in his face, albeit he looked at me in 
searching way, as if to make sure I did neither jest nor 
had lost my wits. 

^^In truth, friend, gave she me audience hut few hours 
since; and moreover did she then confer upon me order 
of knighthood. And youth though I am, may I none the 
less he called Sir Walter Wynnington.” 

Then it seemed to dawn upon the man that had I spoke 
to him from the first naught save truth. And did his 
manner toward myself change quickly. Bowing low he 
said to me in way of much respect : 

“In faith. Sir Walter, did I but ask thee questions of 
such kind to end that I might be assured of mine own 
safety in having dealings with thee touching this mare of 
thine. And, Sir Walter, have I learned to act in way of 
caution with strangers, since have such had from me on 
wrong pretence sums of the which stand I yet in need. 
But now that I know thee. Sir Walter, will I upon the 
morrow bring to thee a dealer who will purchase thy 
mare.” And then rubbing much his hands : “What may 
I now prepare for thy supper. Sir Walter?” 

“In truth, friend,” made I reply, “I supped yond 
Thames at a certain cook-shop.” 

Whereat made my host a wry face, saying that they of 
cook-shops did wrong honest publicans, and as well such 
as chanced by ill-luck to sit at their tables, since was the 
food which they set forth not to the palate as was that 
which might be had at any inn. Then he assured me that 


212 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


upon the morn I would break fast in a way well befitting 
my rank. hTow for the first time had I sense of weariness 
from the many steps and anxious waitings of the long 
day. Yet ere I sought my rest, went I to the stable to see 
that the roan mare were well cared for. Was the first 
sleep of my knighthood a sound one, lasting till were the 
sun well up. Then kept my host his promise, for did I 
break fast with bread, meat, and small ale which found 
I greatly to my liking. And waited he himself upon the 
board, meanwhile heaping upon me many Sir Walters. 
When I arose at length, said he with much smoothness in 
his tone: 

^^Have I sent. Sir Walter, for an honest dealer of horses, 
whom am I full sure I may prevail upon to buy thy mare. 
Look I for this man within an hour.” 

When had I thanked him for the interest which seemed 
he now to take in this matter, went I forth and came by 
the river’s side. Did I then note that the Tower had no 
longer in my eyes the grim look it wore one morn gone by 
when first I beheld it, and when within it was my friend 
condemned to death. Soon weighed I in my mind what 
chance I might have of seeing Don Jose once again, when 
should I have done with the horse dealer. Just then I 
perceived a ship with sails hoisted and lying to just 
abreast the Tower. Then there seemed to come alongside 
this craft a small boat. And soon the ship filled her sails 
and beat gainst the wind on her way down stream. Came 
now into my mind the thought that mayhap they had put 
upon this same ship my old friend Don Jose. Did I 
watch the ship in eager way when came she in her beating 
toward the Surrey shore. And as she swung her head 
again about, I saw a figure limping slowly on her deck. 


THE KXIGHrS HOME-COMING. 


213 


Knew I at once this might he the step of no man on earth 
save Don Jose. Cried I then out at top of voice, and did 
wave my arms in hope that I should catch his eye. Yet 
he perceived me not; and as the wind now veered in way 
to favor the ship’s sailing nearer to her course, she came 
not again toward Surrey, hut kept fast down the stream. 

Was that the last glimpse I ever had of this brave and 
kindly soldier, who had been to me friend as well as tutor. 
Came there to me some months thereafter a letter, 
brought by a certain friend of Sir Harry Bullard by name 
of Hawkins, which had been writ to me by Don Jose. In 
this did he express much love and gratitude to myself for 
having saved his life, albeit had he grown full weary of 
this world. Yet, in that had I been at such labor in this 
same matter for his own sake, had he been touched; and 
would his latest prayer be offered up for me. Had Sir 
Harry Bullard sent unto him that same Missal, which my 
sire did bequeath to him; and prized he this above all his 
other belongings. And glad was I one day to learn that 
Squire Canby had not fled the realm, but had journeyed 
into Devon with view of buying sheep of some new breed. 
Was it likewise shown that the letter which had Don Jose 
brought into England v/as writ in all good faith. And 
came it to pass that through this were certain sheep sent 
into Spain by the Squire, who had for them in exchange 
Spanish sheep of a breed that may yet be seen at White- 
oak. But was my heart made sad about one year after 
his deliverance from London Tower, to learn that my old 
friend had passed away. Died he at the castle of his com- 
rade at arms in Portugal. And when they buried him 
was his beloved Missal in the coffin nigh to the hand which 
had so often turned its pages. 


214 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


When had the ship which bore Don Jose passed from 
out my view I returned to the inn, where found I my host 
in converse with a small man, whom did I note had a most 
tight mouth and a sharp nose, and as well yet sharper 
eyes. Was this man then made known to me as one 
Dickie, who sold and bought horses. 

^^Know I full welV^ said my host, ^^that Sir Walter may 
find no one minded to deal with him in such honest way 
as my friend, who hath come here at my bidding.” 

Did Dickie not seem to heed this lauding of his honesty, 
but when opened he his mouth to my host, he said that his 
throat were sadly parched. Whereat made I request of 
him that he should remove this same affliction at my 
expense by means of good ale. Gave he consent in ready 
way to do this ; and when was the drink brought to him in 
a large measure, drained he that to the last drop without 
one pause. Next he opened his tight mouth to utter some 
jest that in my ear sounded flat, yet which brought from 
the publican roars of laughter. And did his own eyes 
twinkle, while smiled he in way that bespoke his firm 
belief that he were true wit. Then Dickie gave expression 
of his readiness to look at the mare. When had we come 
into the stable, and he had first cast his eye upon the 
mare, he said betwixt his teeth, as if to himself, and with 
a shake of head in doubtful fashion : 

^^^So, so — she be a roan.” 

While looked Dickie closely at her, weighing each of 
her points with seeming care, did I as well watch his face, 
the lines of which seemed slowly to contract, as if had he 
perceived some grievous faults. And in truth, as I there- 
after found, was it shortcomings rather than good points 
for which were he seeking. Yet had this mare far more 


THE KE1GHT8 HOME-COMIEG. 


215 


to commend than to condemn her. When had Dickie at 
length come to end of his scrutiny, both by eye and touch, 
did he name over each one of her faults, making these to 
seem far greater than they were in truth. Then I asked 
of him if she had not certain good points, the which I as 
well named. Shook he his head, and did say that were 
these of value only when marred not by such blemishes 
as had this animal. Then went he on in this way : 

“Would she were in color aught else than roan. Might 
she he sold to few; are not the lower gentry, or the more 
wealthy of the tradesmen now minded to ride roans. Say 
they oft unto me: ^Dickie, I would buy of thee a horse. 
Let it be any color thou may^st see fit to get, save only 
that it he not roan.^ Now, Sir Walter, if this mare were 
but black, or bay, or white, might I give thee for her ten, 
or twelve, or even fifteen guineas. Yet, since is she hut 
roan, and hath these blemishes I named, have I no war- 
rant to offer to thee more than five guineas.” 

Said he this in tone and manner which seemed to de- 
clare that would he not add so much as one farthing to 
the price he had just named. Then did my host with 
seeming frankness say : 

“Is five guineas a good, fair sum. Sir Walter, to pay for 
this mare, when hath she defect of being roan, and as well 
those blemishes which hath my friend already pointed out. 
Wilt thou he wise. Sir Walter, to close the bargain.” 

Perceived I now that these fellows, knowing my needs, 
had in secret put their heads together to end of fleecing 
me. And since was I within their power did I deem it 
wise to put good face upon the matter, and to refuse not 
the price which had been fixed. When had I declared that 
I would take this offer for the mare, did I pat her on her 


216 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


sleek shoulder in way of farewell, hoping in my heart that 
she might have good master. When had we come again 
into the inn Dickie counted out five guineas, ringing each 
upon a table that I might perceive from the sound it were 
no false coin. And as I gathered up the pieces, he said in 
tone of one who takes much pride unto himself : 

^“^Do I ne’er pay out aught but good money. Has there 
come to me many who have said: ^Dickie, have I horse 
that I would part with to thee at thine own price, since 
am I assured thou payest none but good pieces.’ In faith 
would I ne’er offer to any man coin which knew I to be of 
false metal.” 

‘^^That thou surely wouldst not, friend Dickie,” put in 
the publican. 

I now asked of my host to name what sum had my score 
grown to. After much seeming perplexity and likewise 
many countings of fingers, he said that was my reckoning 
in full just one guinea and ten shillings and sixpence. 
When had I given him two guineas, and he had made 
return to me of the half of one of these in silver coins, 
did I perceive that three of the shillings had a most scurvy 
look. When had I these pointed out, and asked of him if 
he deemed them fair and lawful pieces, he thanked me for 
having told him of this. And making good the coins, he 
said it were ever his strife to stand with Dickie in the 
matter of good money. Then Dickie gave expression of 
the truth that had his thirst again come upon him. Had 
he no doubt wish that he might drink once more at my 
expense; yet did he not this thing. Asked I now of the 
twain questions as to the road o’er which had I passed in 
mist and darkness on the second night gone by, and of 
the which had I yet no clear knowledge. And made they 


THE KNIGHTS HOME-COMING. 


217 


reply touching this in ready way, and each with look as if 
he were bestowing on me that which was of much value, 
and yet which he in the fulness of his heart parted with 
freely. Then as I left the inn did they both call me Sir 
Walter and how low, as if in much respect, albeit I 
doubted not there was within them much of secret laugh- 
ter. 

Kept I on foot along the road, as had they given me 
direction, and ere long I perceived that were I come to 
ground that had about it somewhat of familiar look. 
Then was I assured that though I must needs do myself 
the roan mare^s work of ambling, yet would I have no 
cause to stop and ask of strangers where lay my road. 
Had I ever been much of tramper, and save for the pause 
of one hour at my dinner beside the door of one decayed 
and ancient hostel, went I on with firm, light step till 
sank the sun behind a wooded hill. Then paused I at the 
Pine Tree Inn; but were there already many guests with- 
in, and I was told that must needs a loft be my chamber. 
Yet was my slumber that night most refreshing. After 
breaking fast upon the morn, took I to the road once 
more with step of briskness and with cheerful thoughts. 
But was I full weary when I had my noonday meal with 
one small cup of stout ale, brought me by the fair hand 
of a most buxom lass, the daughter of him who kept the 
inn where had I made my stop. Hid she smile on me in 
arch way, and oft came into the common room where then 
I sat, no doubt that she might win frqm me admiring 
glance. Lagged much my feet as I again set forth; yet 
was I cheered by thought that I drew nigh to Bidwell, 
which might I hope to reach before the sun went down. 
But soon came there up in sudden way a storm of rain. 


218 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


which poured down in most heavy fashion. Was I then 
upon a broad heath where was no shelter to he had, and 
so was I soon drenched nnto the skin. Did the rain 
slacken much w^hen were I come to a place where was the 
way much narrowed by tall hushes on either hand. Were 
I no more than half of the way through this, when fell 
there upon my head a blow. 

The next which had I remembrance of was a sense of 
much soreness nigh to my crown. Then did I find myself 
stretched upon the earth, without coat or hat, or even belt 
and small-sword. Gone as well was my light purse and 
pistol. Had I no doubt been felled by thick club in the 
hand of some foot-pad, who then lurked amid the tall 
bushes, and who while I lay without sense did rob me of 
these things. Might I have lain thus upon the ground 
for full an hour^s time. Had now the sun come forth 
once more and shone warmly, else would I have been 
chilled. Was there much blood upon my shirt, and in my 
hair nigh to the wound, which was just above the left 
temple. When had I, yet in dazed way, staggered on to 
where the road once more widened out, I perceived a 
small brook. And o’er this I bent low and washed well 
the wound; and next I laved my face and cleansed in part 
my shirt, within the breast of which found I my kerchief. 
This wrapped I with much of care about my head, and 
thereby covered well the wound. Then did I turn again 
into the way and keep on toward Bidwell. Chanced it 
that I passed upon the road none save one gentleman 
astride a fine white horse. And behind him there sat one 
pretty maid, who gazed down at me with look of horror. 
Then clung she most tightly unto his arms, and I heard 
him tell her to have no fear, since was I no doubt some 


THE K^HGHrS HOME-COMING. 


219 


gentle youth, fresh from much gambling and merrymak- 
ing at the Bullshead Inn. And did there in truth at that 
same house of entertainment oft take place things of the 
kind he named. 

When at length with most weary steps walked I up the 
avenue at Bidwell and came nigh the Hall, did I perceive 
seated upon the porch, and watching the fine red glow 
upon the western sky. Sir Francis and my Lady, and as 
well Walter of Surrey. And stood apart from them with 
most respectful mien good Master Hackett. As their 
glance fell from the bright sky down to the young tar- 
nished Knight, was there at first much wonder in their 
faces. Kext did I note that seemed the tutor pained, as if 
in sympathy for me. But the youth burst out in laughter 
at the sorry sight which then I offered. Looked then his 
sire at him in reproving way; hut did the Lady Wynning- 
ton gaze on me in scorn. As came I up the steps, bowing 
unto my elders, asked Sir Francis of me : 

^^What of thy friend, Don J ose ?” 

‘^Sir,^^ made I reply, ^fis he now by the grace of God on 
board ship that is bearing him hence in safety 

‘^And thou, Walter 

^‘And he,” broke in his spouse in tone of much con- 
tempt, ^^Dost thou not for thyself see this to be in truth 
no more than one young wretch, foul and besmeared.” 

^^Kay, madam,” I said in firm one, ^^am I no wretch. 
But, by the grace of Elizabeth, the Queen, am I Sir Walter 
Wynnington.” 


220 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


XIX. 

GENTLEFOLK. 

When had I made change of my apparel, and had as 
well put on a coat and fresh bandage npon my wound, went 
I down to appease hunger. And while sat I at supper 
came in Sir Francis, with his wife and son, and Hackett 
as well. To them did I relate at length what had befallen 
me; and when at last was I at end of this, I said to my 
guardian : 

^AVilt thou he pleased, sir, to put the five-and-twenty 
guineas which am I rid of, as well as the value of the roan 
mare, to the charge of my yet cumbered estate. Albeit 
would I wish thee to set down the mare’s price at far more 
than the sum of five guineas which had I from Dickie.” 

^‘^Did I give eight-and-twenty guineas for that same 
mare,” made he reply. ^^Yet shalt thou pay for her and 
as well make return of the same sum I loaned thee, when 
art thou come of full age, and hast thy heritage much 
more free of debt than is it now. As I warned thee, 
Walter — pardon me, I crave, for that I may not always be 
minded to call thee Sir — there were rogues abroad; and 
wert thou well in their hands at Court, at inn, and on the 
highway. Like unto my namesake of France, at Pavia, 
hast thou lost all save honor; yet of that same hast thou 
gained much. And in truth,” here did he lay hand upon 
my shoulder in a most kindly wa}^, “am I, and as should 


GENTLEFOLK. 


221 


be all other Wynningtons, full proud of thee, my young 
Knight/" 

When was I telling of the Palace my Lady made oft her 
interruptions to ask touching the hangings and the woods 
and marbles. And to her gave I answer as best I might, 
albeit not as fully as would she have wished, since did 
much of that sort escape my eye. And when I told how I 
had first perceived the great Elizabeth, did she stop me to 
ask, what manner of royal robe I saw upon her. Then 
I made answer that could I not tell aught about this save 
that it had look of costly fabric. Next my Lady asked 
about the jewels which the Queen wore, and such like mat- 
ters; and when had I in small way her curiosity relieved 
touching these she said, albeit in tone of but slight vexa- 
tion, that I were a stupid Knight to note so little of what 
was most pleasing to the eye. Did Sir Francis put with 
show of much interest questions about the sword which 
had Elizabeth laid upon my shoulder in gentle taps. 

From that same even was there change of bearing to- 
ward myself in the Lady Wynnington. Albeit would she 
no doubt rather have it said that her Walter had gone to 
Court and had been shown favor by the Queen. Yet in 
that this same thing happened to me, did she now deem 
myself in some way as worthy of respect. As well her 
Walter harkened to me more often in the lesson-room, 
when would I in pleasant way ask of him to cease the 
tricks which he were minded to play upon Master Hackett. 
Kor was it long ere I perceived the scapegrace were striv- 
ing to make copy of me in seme ways. As to Master 
Hackett himself, could I not at first bring him to take 
up again with much of interest our lessons, for would his 
mind seem to wander from the task. And oft when would 


222 


8IR WALTER OF KENT. 


I look up quick at him would I perceive him looking at 
me in wonder, as if could he not in full way have compre- 
hension that I had undergone so much in four short days. 

And was it soon noised about that I had gone to Court 
and had been knighted. For this same thing no doubt 
would certain ones when I passed them on the road gaze 
on me in fixed way, whereas had they erstwhile been wont 
to pass me with scarce a glance. And once, some hours 
past the noon, as went I on foot by the Bullshead Inn, 
came out therefrom a goodly company to behold me. And 
some, more gone in drink than were the rest, called after 
me in jesting way. To this I deemed it wise to give no 
heed. Had I before known few of all the gentlefolk of 
the country round about Bidwell. When had the Lady 
Wynnington been minded to go abroad to make her visits, 
would she take her Walter, and sometimes as well her 
spouse, leaving me with Hackett for my company. And if 
there came to Bidwell some families in turn to pay visits, 
perceived I from my Lady’s look that I would not he 
welcome at the hoard; and so supped I with the tutor. 
Knew I full well that my guardian did make protest 
gainst this same thing many times; yet had not prevailed 
his wishes in the matter. But now was there a change, 
and were I hidden to see the company which came, and 
as well to go abroad with the other Wynningtons to be 
with them entertained by their friends. One day when 
had I been sent for by my Lady, was I made known to 
her guests. Squire Hardy and his wife. Was the Squire 
tall and rawhoned and stooped much. His Dame had 
upon her face, which was round and not much wrinkled 
for her years, a smile which no doubt she did deem a most 
pleasing one. Yet had she so o’erdone this same, that 


GENTLEFOLK. 


223 


seemed it unto myself to partake more of grimace than 
smile. In a pleasant voice she said to me : 

“To think. Sir Walter, that at such tender age thou 
shouldst gain Court honors! Would that my son Eichard 
might do likewise. Thou shalt see and know Dick, for is 
he nigh to thine own size and age, though is he a year or 
more younger than his sister Judith, who is in truth a 
sweet girl. Thou wilt come and sup with us at Thornhill 
this day week, wilt thou not ?” 

Gave I her assurance that I would find pleasure in going 
to Thornhill at the time she named. Then was she asked 
by Lady Wynnington if she were not minded to go into 
the kitchen and see a certain jam which was the cook 
then in preparation of. When had left us the twain did 
I listen to the Squire, as told he Sir Francis in rambling 
way of a hunt some two days gone by at Shorley Manor 
some twenty mile away, where had he seen a breed of 
hounds which had pleased him much. While was the 
Squire yet telling of these same hounds, I chanced to go 
nigh a window that was open. Then did I perceive be- 
neath me my Lady and Dame Hardy, who were both bend- 
ing o’er some plants. Then heard I the Squire’s spouse 
to ask : 

“Be not his estates of Merton large ?” 

“Hay,” my Lady made reply, “are these not so large; 
and moreover are they cumbered much with debts, the 
which are like to rest there through his life.” 

Whereat I perceived upon the face of good Dame Hardy 
what seemed a look of worriment. Though knew I that 
she were speaking of myself, did I not then have compre- 
hension of why the knowledge of my poverty should drive 
from off her face her large and wonted smile. When sat 


224 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


we at supper did I act in way of great respect toward this 
lady, yet were she so taken up with praising Surrey 
Walter, to his fond mother^s great delight, that she paid 
small heed unto myself. Nor when she took her leave 
did she give to me reminder that I were to sup at Thorn- 
hill that day week. Yet when had come this time, did I 
repair unto the ancient manor-house of Squire Hardy, 
where I perceived naught that would bespeak much 
wealth. Was the Dame in her manner somewhat cold as 
she gave unto myself a greeting. Did the tall Squire give 
me one small nod, together with a word or two my ears 
caught not. And was Master Dick an overgrown youth, 
far taller and of greater weight than I. Were his eyes 
small and his face thick covered with red pimples. Seemed 
he quite shy of me, and were I not minded to press myself 
upon him. Yet was his sister Judith disposed to make 
amends for the others^ coldness toward me. And did she 
seem to have somewhat of sweetness in her nature, albeit 
were she not of fair exterior. Was she like to her brother, 
of poor complexion; and as well had she a squint of right 
eye which was not pleasing. Yet was I not minded to 
make plain to her that her lack of beauty, e’en when were 
her sweetness weighed, made her not attractive unto the 
other sex. And so I bore myself toward her in right gal- 
lant way, which caused her eyes to sparkle with pleasure. 
Yet did not her mother seem well pleased that I should 
thus in small way strive to pay honor to her offspring. 
And when took I my leave, she did not hid me come again 
to Thornhill. The next day the Lady Wynnington asked 
of me if I had been treated in way of warmth by my new- 
^ade friends, the Hardys. 

Nay, madam,” I made reply, ^Vere they full cold in 


GENTLEFOLK. 


225 


bearing toward myself, all save young Mistress Judith, 
who ” 

‘‘Young Mistress Judith!” made she interruption. 
“Dost thou know the age of her ?” 

“Did her mother say, madam, that she were older by a 
year or more than her brother, who is nigh to my own 
age.” 

“Art thou, Walter, eighteen this autumn, and will 
Richard be seventeen next spring. And were Judith just 
past her eighth birthday when was her brother born.” 

Did she then question me further touching my visit at 
Thornhill, and when had I made my replies, she said : 

“Dost thou not perceive the truth of this matter ? W as 
the Dame’s great change toward thyself for reason that, 
when she came here with thought to bid thee to Thornhill, 
she had thee in her mind, youth though thou art, as a 
suitor for her Judith, whom would she fain see married. 
When had she learned of me that the estates of Merton 
were encumbered much, did she bestow no more upon thee 
that smile of hers. Nor would she have minded liadst 
thou not gone at all to Thornhill. Yet when thou didst 
go, and bore thyself in gallant way towards her daughter 
liked she not this, since would she not have friendship 
twixt thee and Judith, as might thou thus stand in way 
of some suitor with sufficient fortune.” 

Dwelt there not far from Bidwell a new-made gentle- 
man, albeit had he declared himself to be of ancient blood. 
Had he gained much wealth in London, as tradesman of 
some sort were it said by many. Did these same ones 
protest that he had no right to claim his coat-of-arras, 
though had he received this from proper source. And 
moreover made he in stout way denial that he had paid 
15 


226 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


one large purse of gold to be made gentleman. Was bis 
house large and new; and within this were Squire Jarvis, 
as loved he to be called, glad to treat in way of hospitality 
such of the gentlefolk as were minded to thus honor him. 
Yet came not many of such unto his door, albeit upon cold 
nights would youths of good families on way home, or 
else while going to the houses of others of quality, pause 
and drop in with thought to take from his hand some 
heated drink, and as well to warm themselves before his 
fire. And came there no ladies from round about to make 
visit at this house. Had the new Squire for his wife a 
pleasant woman who wore well her years. Was there a 
daughter married to a young physician, who dwelt with 
them, and likewise a son who long had known not good 
health. And ^twas said by the gossips he had brought 
on him his disorders through toiling overmuch within his 
father’s shop. Passed I at times within their doors, where 
had I much of welcome. And found I these people to be 
pleasant hosts, and as well of good manners, and withal 
possessed of far more knowledge than had many who oft 
spoke of them in most scornful way. Yet did I think 
’twould be wiser on their part if they sought not to stand 
mong those who were not minded to mingle with them. 
Once when came I to their house, was there on visit with 
them some folk from London, whom had they long known 
and who were of more humble sort than they themselves. 
Then did Jarvis and his wife, and as well his daughter, 
bear themselves toward me in familiar way, oft calling me 
Sir Walter, and meanwhile watching their friends to per- 
ceive if were not these much impressed at seeing them 
upon such easy terms with a young Knight of ancient 
family. 


GENTLEFOLK. 


227 


And would I as well at times make my respectful bow 
unto the Lady Hinsdale, wife of Sir Joseph -Hinsdale, 
who dwelt in one wing of Hinsdale Hall, since had all the 
rest of their once proud manor fallen into sad decay. 
Held my Lady yet some of her beauty, which had in truth 
once been great. And, long years afore had she been to 
Court ; so would she ne’er tire of telling to me of that one 
most happy day of all her life. And as well would she ask 
of me to repeat to her o’er and o’er again, the story of how 
had I stood before Elizabeth. Would she with sad face 
declare that she had much of pity for they who had 
neither been to Court, nor lived in hope that some day 
they might go thither. As for her two daughters, tall, 
fine maids with fiaxen hair and doll faces, was she of firm 
belief that each of the twain would some day have this 
same honor which had fallen to her lot. And would I 
bear myself in gallant way toward the fair ones, at which 
would they simper much and toss each her head, albeit 
showing that had in some measure her vanity been fed by 
me. Had old Sir Joseph, as sat he apart in gloomy 
fashion, naught to say of the Queen’s grand Court. Yet 
must he have thought full oft of the Law Court, through 
which did press him in grievous fashion they who in his 
younger day had loaned him large sums, the which had he 
then sought that he might waste the same in sumptuous 
manner. 

Some ten miles from Bidwell stook Keating Castle, the 
seat of Henry, Earl of Surrey. Had he a son, nigh to 
twenty years of age, who was called Lord Harry. And 
came there word to us that this same Lord Harry and two 
guests of his, would on a certain day be pleased to have 
with them the two Walters. Did my Lady plan to have 


228 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


her son look most trim and spruce on the visit to Keating, 
and were he given much fine lace, of which thing was my 
own supply quite small. Yet when came the day for our 
going, was Surrey Walter pale and dull of look from too 
much eating, and would not his anxious mother permit of 
his now passing from out her watchful care. So set I out 
alone upon the most sorry beast that found grain and 
shelter in Bidwell stables. Did Sir Francis offer me use 
of his new black horse, yet was I mindful that I had lost 
for him his fleet roan, and giving thanks for this his offer, 
I said that since might misfortune overtake me on the 
road, as had it done before, should no dealer get much the 
best of me in bargain for my beast. When had I come to 
Keating Castle, was I given welcome in way of easy grace 
by young Lord Harry, a dark, well-looking youth who led 
me to his other guests. And now I beheld in truth Henry 
de Wycherly and his brother Paul. Did Henry look right 
glad to see me as he grasped my hand. Yet Paul seemed 
to give me his hand in grudging way, and was there sour 
look upon his face as he asked of me how I liked dwelling 
with my guardian. But with friendly pat upon my shoul- 
der Henry said to me : 

^^And to think thou hast been to Dourf, and come away 
with a title to thy name. Glad am I indeed that thou 
art Knight.” 

Just then I perceived that Paul were looking at me 
with the old unpleasant grin upon his face, as if he were 
minded in sneering fashion to say : 

^^And in truth is he a pretty Knight !” 

At length Lord Harry asked of me if I had liking for 
crossing foils that day, and when had I replied that the 
same would give to me much of pleasure, he said that he 


GENTLEFOLK. 


229 


liimself, and his friends, the two de Wycherlys, had for 
fencing a great fondness. As led he the way toward the 
room where were they wont to fence, came upon us the 
Earl of Surrey, who was tall and held high up his dark 
and well-bearded head. Had I seen him hut once afore, 
when were he riding with Lord Harry by his. side. Did 
he now take notice of me, albeit in lofty way, and then 
asked of me touching my audience with the Queen. When 
had I made him full answers did he nod with complacent 
smile and turn away. Had he then mayhap a sense of 
pride in his great Earldom, the which might cause him to 
look on knighthood as but small business. When had we 
come to the room for fencing. Lord Harry and myself 
chose our foils and began work, he in eager way, and I 
with much of coolness. Had we made exchange of scarce 
a dozen strokes, when perceived I a chance to put to use one 
of Don Jose’s tricks; and was Lord Harry quickly disarmed. 
Four other times did he approach me, and as oft was he 
disarmed. Was there look of much displeasure in the 
face of young Paul when our host declared that he were 
well beaten, and asked of Henry if he had the courage to 
enter now the lists gainst the champion from Bidwell. 
Yet was Henry ever a plucky lad, so did he try me with 
the foils, only to he as much loser at the game as had 
Lord Harry himself. 

And now Paul tried his hand, picking up a foil from 
the tip of which had fell the button. And with this made 
he at myself, lunging in frantic way, no doubt with full 
intent to give me some deep scratch with the sharp point. 
Did I ward off these unskilful blows with much of ease, 
as came he again and again at me. And grew he more 
wroth and eager, while his brother and our host laughed 


2C0 WALTER OF KENT. 

at his vain efforts. Yet at last was he worn ont and short 
of breath, to regain the which did he drop his foil and 
sink in gasping way upon a chair. Then I made known 
to the others how had I the advantage of having been 
taught to fence by a most skilled master of the art, who 
had tutored me as well in French and Spanish. As I said 
this the face of Lord Harry brightened, and he began to 
speak to me in btid French. When made he a pause I 
replied to him in the same tongue. Did he now perceive 
from my accent and readiness of speech that had I far 
more mastery o’er the language than himself. Whereat 
seemed he to reflect in sober way upon this truth, which 
knew I to be a far from pleasing one to him. When had 
Paul gained his breath once more, he said in disappointed 
tone: 

^^Too bad it is there might not come to us to-day Walter 
Wynnington of Bidwell. Might we have got some real 
pleasure with him.” 

How was I mindful that this sour lad had beheld me, 
for whom he had no liking, a victor both with the foil and 
with the tongue, and that he was from this cause exceed- 
ing angry. So did I deem it well to make him no return 
for this same thrust. When at length I took my leave, 
was Henry de Wycherly pleasant in his words and bear- 
ing. Did Lord Harry speak smoothly, albeit not asking 
me to come again to Keating. And was there in his man- 
ner that which led me to belief that in his heart he yet 
begrudged me my triumphs o’er him. As to young Paul, 
did he nod stiffly, and then glare at me with look of 
downright hatred. As rode I homeward I said to myself 
that albeit this same castle of Keating had high walls, 
which were as well most thick and strong, yet was there 


GENTLEFOLK. 


231 


within the place far less that might yield comfort than 
had I seen in manor-houses of certain Squires. In truth 
had my friend Jarvis more to boast of in this way than 
the lofty Earl of Surrey. 

Not long thereafter were the two Walters bidden to 
come to Ealing House, where was dwelling for the time 
the Baron de Port, who had two sons of about twenty 
years of age. And would these young gentlemen fain be 
upon a certain afternoon our hosts. This time did Surrey 
Walter take care not to prevent his visit by the overeating 
of himself ; and so rode we together unto Ealing, he on his 
sire’s new black horse, and I upon the same old nag which 
had borne me to Keating Castle. Were our hosts both 
bright, merry lads, with large blue eyes and curly hair; 
and did they give to us most hearty welcome. As well 
had their sire, the Baron, a pleasant word to say to each 
Walter. Was he stout of make, and were his features 
most fine and regular. Yet was he dressed in plain 
fashion, and were his manners simple, while wore he not 
the haughty look that did many of his rank. Was the 
elder of our young hosts named Herbert, and the younger 
Erank. Like to myself had they long been motherless, 
yet had they both remembrance of their lost parent, of 
the whom spoke Frank in loving way, and with a tear 
upon the lid of each blue eye, while Herbert though silent 
wore most sad look upon his face. Was Kate, who kept 
the keys of Ealing, a woman of pleasant mien, who 
brought to my mind Jane Edmunds. Had the lads a 
tutor, who were now upon a visit to his home in Devon. 
This tutor. Master Mallow, had been at Oxford, and was 
learned likewise in French. Could he ride well, and fence 
in skilful way. His pupils told us that at lessons was he 


232 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


a cross and crabbed man, and that yet betwixt studies 
were he most merry in his ways, saying most comic things. 
Then did Herbert ask if we fenced. To this Walter of 
Surrey, with a blush no doubt at thought that his fond 
mother would not permit of his using foils, made reply 
that had he small liking for this thing, yet were the other 
Walter good at fencing. Was I now minded that when 
at Keating had my triumph brought no pleasure to my 
host; and so when Herbert and myself took up our foils, 
made I resolve to spare this my rival aught that might 
humiliate his pride. So used I not my best strokes, but 
strove to fence not one whit better than might he him- 
self. And when was he, for want of breath, content to 
stop with neither one the victor, did I, in feigned way, 
puff full as hard as he. When had I seemed once more 
to have my breath I tried the foils with Frank, whom did 
I permit to come off full as well as had the heir of the 
de Ports. And when there seemed to be with me the 
second time my breath, I weighed my hosts as to their 
progress in the language of the French. Perceived I that 
in their speech of that tongue had they faults, yet strove 
I not to correct these, but spoke in same fashion as they, 
halting oft, as if to call to my mind the phrase I fain 
would use, and likewise twisting many words and giving 
to much of these false accent. In truth were we quits at 
this same game of French, Just as had we been when Vv^e 
fenced. So, when did we part were both of my young 
rivals sworn friends of mine, who vowed that in the future 
we should oft meet. 

One day, when rode my young kinsman and myself to 
Barton Hall, who should I find there as guest of my Lady 


GENTLEFOLK. 


233 


Barton but Maud de Wycherly. When our hostess, still a 
handsome woman and given much to please with flatter}', 
made known Surrey Walter unto the charming maid, 
gazed he at her in entranced way; and she perceiving this, 
shone on him with her bright and sparkling eyes. Had 
she no doubt the full intent of making him her slave. 
Then, betwixt the whiles when had she upon her hands 
the enchantment of the swain of Surrey, she strove with 
all her arts to win back the devotion of him of Kent. 
Although I bore myself in gallant manner toward her, 
bestowing many compliments, yet could I not look at her 
in the old way of worship. Had I not yet forgotten the 
day, when stood I neath the tall tree nigh to Hazel Lodge, 
and received from her sharp tongue most cruel stabs. 
Might still her eyes blaze forth their most winsome light, 
yet on me was that same doomed to be forever wasted. 
And did this very truth soon seem to dawn upon the mind 
of Maud, who looked not kindly on my lasting change of 
heart. Yet now had she the more time to cast her spells 
o’er Surrey Walter, who was at no pains to conceal his 
budding love for her. When at last we took our leave, 
did Maud bestow on him her softest glances, and as well 
sweet words; while to myself she gave the faintest nod, 
and this with tight-closed lips. As rode we back to Bid- 
well turned my companion oft to me in way of triumph, 
yet saying naught. When at length I asked of him if he 
were not well pleased with charming Maud, burst he forth 
in clumsy words of praise, and did he in loud voice declare 
there were none in all the world like unto this maid. And 
then spoke he in this way : 

‘*At nrst, Walter, she smiled on thee as well as on my- 


234 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


self; but in the end, ha! ha! did I triumph, and looked 
she not on thee again. Yet sad will I be, my friend, if in 
winning her it shall break thy heart.’^ 

While gave I to him assurance that would his happiness 
with Maud cause me no pang, did I wonder in my heart 
if sweet Constance Leigh beyond the seas had grown in 
the flesh as had she done in my imagery. 


XX. 


THE PEASLEYS OF PEELING MANOR. 

Ean my life on smoothly, and with nanght of newness 
or incident, which do I now recall, until the year ’Xinety- 
six, when was there much talk of the war with Spain. Yet 
was there this time no fear within our England of a vast 
Armada. The rather was the fear of the coming fleet 
with Spain. And was I minded to go with our fleet now 
fitting out; so I asked of Sir Francis his permission to 
seek from the Queen some post neath Blake, the Admiral, 
who was to take command. Did I point out that, with my 
knowledge of the tongue of Spain, might I prove most fit 
and useful for this same enterprise of war. To this Sir 
Francis, when had he weighed it well, gave his consent, 
and was there day fixed for my departure. When was it 
made known to the Lady Wynnington that I were like to 
be soon off for foreign wars, came she to myself in secret 
with tears upon the lashes of her eyes, and said : 

do beg and beseech of thee, my dear friend, that thou 
shalt not strive to entice my Walter to go with thee unto 
the wars. Is he not by nature fitted for such thing; yet 
might thought of change and of seeing distant lands 
rouse in him the wish to go with thee. And, if went he 
thus from his poor mother, would her heart be broken. 
Promise me that rather than entice him thou shalt urge 

235 


236 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


him to stay at home by pointing out the many dangers 
which thon thyself art minded to go through.” 

do vow, madam,” made I reply, ^^that I will act in 
this same matter as thon dost wish; and will I begin at 
once to make plain to thy son war’s dangers and its trials, 
of the which have I learned much from my old tutor, who 
was long one of Fortune’s soldiers.” 

Whereat did the fond mother give to me a kiss, and 
say that I v/ere in all verity a true friend. Then sought 
1 Surrey Yfalter, and related to him some of the scenes of 
blood, and as well of want, which had Don Jose gone 
through in his vrars. Did my young kinsman listen to 
all this with show of interest, and when had I come to 
end, he said: 

“If war be such as this, thou art fool to take hand in 
that same. How canst thou tell but chance may throw 
thee into Spaniards’ hands. Anc> then mayhap they shall 
burn thee at the stake.” 

“I speak touching these things,” made I reply, “so that 
thou shalt know what dangers are like to beset, if thou 
should take it into thy head to go with me.” 

Whereat did he gaze at me in wonder for a moment; 
and then hurst he into laughter, and exclaimed : 

“Hay, nay, my kinsman, not I!” 

Was I now minded that he had of late seen again the 
charming Maud, in whose favor did he deem himself to 
he gaining ground in sure way. Then came to me belief 
that if naught else should urge him gainst going to the 
wars, his desire to preserve himself with end to winning 
this fair maid, would assure his staying snug at home. 
And did I now perceive why it was that this young name- 
sake of my own had not of late borne himself toward me 


THE PEASLETS OF PERLING MANOR. 


237 


in such friendly way as before. Had Maud no doubt 
spoke ill of me unto this her ardent lover. So, seemed it 
now to me that, out of his very loyalty to her, were Surrey 
Walter turning gainst his kinsman. Yet knowing well 
the power which this maid held o’er his simple nature, 
had I little heart to reproach him for this thing. As to 
young Mistress Maud herself, did I hold her quite free 
to pursue her small plans of vengeance on myself for that 
I yielded not again unto her wiles. Was the tutor 
Hackett much cast down at thought of parting with me. 
Though had the man for myself much of fondness, was 
he as well no doubt at loss to know how, when I were 
gone, he might have guidance at his studies. 

And yet it came to pass that I went not out to Spain 
with Blake, our Admiral, but tarried on instead at Bid- 
well. For it chanced that on the morn next to the one 
on which had I fixed for my departure, as went I into 
the stables to have look at the new bay horse, which had 
Sir Francis bought and bestowed upon myself, did the 
beast kick out in sudden and vicious way and hit me full 
upon the shin of my right leg, breaking the bone. And 
so next day was I upon my couch instead of on the way to 
London. As was the break not regular in shape, and the 
bones together grew but slowty, was it many weeks ere 
I stood firmly once more upon my feet. And then had 
our Blake been some while gone. Yet was there so little 
done by England’s arms in this same enterprise, that 
were I thereafter more content that had chance prevented 
me from Joining in the same. 

When was my one-and-twentieth birthday come, said 
my guardian naught to me touching the truth that I 
were now of age. Yet did I deem it not well to put to him 


238 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


questions as to his silence in this matter, since might he 
have some further business with my affairs ere he placed 
these same in my own hands. And made he more than 
one journey into Kent, and another as well to London, 
saying he were gone to attend to certain matters that did 
press. When had my birthday gone by three full months, 
and were begun the year of ^Mnety-seven, I saw look of 
worriment upon his face whene’er I came upon him in 
sudden way. And when one morn I found him bending 
o’er his fire and gazing in gloomy fashion into the embers, 
did he look up at me and say : 

‘^Am I glad thou art come, Walter, since have I some- 
thing to tell to thee touching thine own affairs. Are 
there yet heavy debts upon thy estates of Merton. In 
truth do they to whom have the Courts of Law given use 
of thy lands, and as well thy dwellings, declare the cum- 
hrances still great. Full sure am I there is somewhere 
imposition, yet can I not yet lay hand upon the rogue, 
whoe’er that one may he. For in all this matter do things 
seem to he done in right form of Law. Yet fear I ’twill 
he years afore thou canst claim thine own. In truth have 
the sums, which were to come to thee through myself for 
thy maintenance and use, not yet been paid me.” 

^^Do I ask of thee, sir,” said I now, ‘^to accept of my 
thanks for that thou hast taken from thine own purse 
the sums which have been put to my use. Yet am I not 
minded to be longer a burden upon thee, hut rather would 
I go hence and earn my own bread.” 

^^’Tis well spoke, my boy; yet what may there be at 
the which shall Sir Walter Wynnington hope to gain his 
livelihood?” 


TEE PEASLEYS OF PEELING MANOR. 


239 


I not, sir, a master of the French and Spanish 
tongues, and of the use of swords as well ?” 

‘‘Thou art so truly, Walter; and if thou art minded to 
turn tutor, known I of a certain gentleman in Wiltshire 
who would gladly pay well for one who may instruct his 
son and heir in these things. Yet hast thou no need to 
look upon thyself as being driven forth from Bidwell. 
For here art thou free to tarry, as my friend and kinsman, 
until such a time as shall thy affairs he set straight, and 
Merton shall he thine in more than name.^^ 

Whereat did I in thanking him for the kindness of his 
offer, make it clear to him that I would be far more con- 
tent toiling each day for bread, than fattening upon his 
bounty. Then said he that there was a matter of his own 
which he had wish to look to at a place nigh unto Perling 
Manor, where dwelt Squire Peasley, the one whom had he 
spoke of'^as like to give to me the post of tutor to his son. 
And would he then see him touching this same thing. 
Departed Sir Francis upon the morrow, and was he gone 
upon his journey six days. Did he on his return hid me 
set out for Perling on the morn, since would Squire 
Peasley have me to tutor his son, whose age were some 
fourteen years. 

“Thou wilt he cared for well, and will receive each year 
the sum of twenty guineas. Yet hath thy pupil Dick a 
most dull, albeit an honest look. Thou wilt have hard 
work to knock thy French and Spanish into his head; 
and hath he a clumsy way which gives me much doubt 
of his being ready with the foil. Yet doth his sire, and 
his mother full as well, call him a right quick pupil. 
Had they a tutor from Cambridge, who strove in vain to 


240 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


teach him Greek and Latin. Yet do his fond parents for 
this same reason declare that he will take the better to 
the tongues of both France and Spain. But though thou 
wilt have large labor with this lad, shalt thou find much 
to console thee in the thought that thereby thou dost the 
better earn thy bread and wage.^^ 

When upon the morn I departed, seemed my good 
guardian, and Master Hackett as well, to have within 
their hearts the sorrow which made they expression of. 
Yet was there in the face of the Lady Wynnington a look 
which to me did bespeak the truth that she found some 
secret pleasure in the thought that I were to be no more 
at Bidwell. Had Surrey Walter no doubt within him 
some slight pangs at knowledge that a companion of some 
years were now to be lost to him; yet, mayhap from 
thoughts of loyalty unto the fair though vengeful Maud, 
was he minded to show naught of warmth when took we 
our farewell. But was I well pleased to see that were the 
servants, one and all, loathe to have me go away. Was 
the air sharp and dry, while were the ground hard and 
frozen; and went steadily along my horse with its well- 
cloaked rider and his belongings in two saddle-bags. Saw 
I few people upon the road, albeit were there at windows 
of some of the houses which I passed faces of they who 
looked out upon me, no doubt with glow of comfort at 
thought that they were not now abroad and facing the 
chill wind. When paused I at the inns and had sent my 
beast into the stable, did I find warmth of blazing fire 
most inviting, and had I keen appetite for whatever was 
set before me. And slept I in sound fashion the two 
nights when lay I in hostels. Strayed I not many times 
from ofi the road and so late in the afternoon of the 


TEE PEA8LEYS OF PEELING MANOR. 

third day, when had a cold rain begun to fall in small 
drops, came I to Perling Manor. Was I there given wel- 
come and shown into the large, pleasant chamber which 
was to be my own. Was there a fire lit here, and found 
I this place most cheerful. Had the manor-house of Perl- 
ing been built but five years before, and was it of brick. 
Stood it upon the brow of a small hill, and was there from 
this to he had good view of all the country round about. 
Was Squire Peasley a man of substance, having as well 
as his own wide estates, much of wealth that did come to 
him with his wife, who was fourth daughter of Sir Jasper 
Jennings, a great merchant. 

Did Squire Peasley have red face and hair, with eyes 
that seemed like to burst from out his head. Was he 
ever finding cause for wonder in that which he himself 
spoke of, or in what was told unto him by others. When 
had he asked of me where I learned the French and Span- 
ish, and as well the art of fencing, which was I to teach to 
his son, and told I him of my dear old tutor, did his eyes 
stand out still farther; and gave he utterance to many 
w-ords of astonishment. Then told he of the tutor from 
Cambridge who had striven to teach his son; and did he 
dwell upon the strange and wonderful perversity of this 
man. And spoke he of his dear son Dick as a lad of keen 
mind, albeit quick only in modest way. Then he related 
to me many acts and speeches of his hoy that seemed 
marvelous to him. And some few days thereafter, when 
rode I with him o’er his estates, did he ever point to some 
thing he deemed most wonderful. Was the Squire at 
heart a kindly man, and to his tenants was he right good 
landlord, pressing not for rent thy who had met with 
some misfortune. And was he much beloved by all his 
16 


242 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


servants, to whom was he in truth an easy master. Seemed 
not Dame Peasley to find, as did her husband, so much to 
wonder at. Whatever befell them looked to her no doubt 
as coming in the order of nature. Was she a comely 
woman for her years; and on her pleasant face was e’er 
a smile which to me bespoke much of satisfaction in her- 
self. And like to her husband, had she a kindly heart. 

Was my pupil Dick a lad of ungainly bearing, and with 
great hands and feet. Had he a fair, handsome face, 
which was frank and honest in its look, albeit was there 
in the same that which seemed to tell of dullness. And 
was Dick in truth far from being ready pupil, though 
hard he strove to learn. Oft would I find him most slow 
to comprehend that which another of his years might 
grasp in easy way. Then when had I in most clear terms 
strove to explain the matter, would be open lips, leaving 
teeth firm closed, and gaze into my eyes with dumb look. 
And many times when drew a long lesson to the end, 
would he have some glimmer of the light which sought 
I to send into his mind. Yet on the morrow would I per- 
ceive that he had forgot the little which had he seemed 
to have some grasp of but some few hours gone by. And 
did I now begin my task anew, and with patience. For 
made I most firm resolve that I would not yield till I 
might get from out his lips words of France and Spain, 
which might the people of those lands have some under- 
standing of. And when had I got so far on in this my 
task as to teach him to repeat, albeit but in parrot style, 
some few phrases of the French, were his two parents 
overjoyed. The Squire deemed the progress of his much 
loved son to be most wonderful; and did his mother’s look 


THE PEASLEY8 OF PERLING MANOR. 


243 


of satisfaction seem to bespeak the thought that had he 
inherited much from her. 

And though my toils were great in the guidance of 
Dick Peasley toward the path of knowledge, yet did I 
grow to have much of fondness for the lad, since had he 
shown a kindly heart, and as well much honesty of pur- 
pose. Albeit were he at first most awkward with his foil, 
seemed he at length to overcome this, giving promise of 
some day fencing in proper fashion. Came there few to 
visit at Perling Manor, and had Master Eichard no com- 
panion of his own years at hand. Would he and I oft 
watch from the hill-top the hounds and huntsmen in the 
distance, as with cries would they pursue poor Keynard. 
Kept Squire Peasley no kennel of hounds, and went he 
not to the hunts of they of his neighbors who loved this 
sport. 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


HA 


XXI. 

CEOSS SEAS. 

Had I been at Perling Manor one year, and some five 
months more, when my pupil was taken ill and com- 
plained of pains within his head. Was sent for old Doctor 
Grumby, who dwelt hard by Durston Church. When had 
he questioned much in gruff voice our Kichard and had 
considered of the manner of his pulse, and as well gazed 
upon his tongue, did the physician nod well his grizzled 
head and say: 

^^Hath Dick given more time unto his studies than is 
meet for one like to him. Will medicines have no avail 
with him if he be not given rest, and as well a change of 
air.^^ 

Was Squire Peasley stricken with much wonder to learn 
that had his son’s illness come from too much of study. 
Yet did he not seem minded to cast the blame for this 
thing upon shoulders of the tutor, as would many fathers 
in his place have done. When asked he of Doctor Grumby 
whither it would be well to take Eichard for his change 
of air, the man of medicine made reply : 

’Twould be well to send him o’er the sea into France 
for some six weeks. Let him not seek large towns, but 
find rather a quiet hostel where may he spend his nights, 
while should be passed his days in long rides and walks.” 

Then, to end that Dick might tide over present needs, 


CR088 8EA8. 


245 


did the good Doctor bleed him to point of fine paleness, 
and as well cup him full many times. Likewise he left 
with him much of medicine to be oft swallowed. When 
had Physician Grumhy gone his way, and Dame Peasley 
had led her son unto his couch, where with tender hand 
smoothed she out his soft pillow, she and her spouse well 
weighed this matter of sending Dick across the water for 
his own good. And did they deem it well to place the 
lad under my care and direction, albeit were I to grant 
him rest from all his studies. Gave I to them in ready 
way my full consent to undertake this thing. Was it 
agreed that we should ride to Bristol and there take ship 
for some port of France. 

On the morn of the third day thereafter did I set out 
by Dick^s side from Perling Manor with my pocket well 
lined in way of gold for expense upon the journey. Kode 
I upon my hay, while was my companion mounted on a 
fleet black mare. Had I two good pistols, and as well by 
my side a sharp sword, so that I stood in small fear of 
foot-pads, or for the matter of highwaymen. Behind us 
upon a strong-built nag rode Dave Thomas, a faithful 
serving-man, who had long been a well-fed retainer at 
Perling Manor. Was there upon this beast as well large 
saddle-hags, filled to the full with divers garments and 
articles of need, of the which were the many for use of 
Master Eichard, and the few for Sir Walter. Was our 
Dave a close-mouthed man of five-and-forty years, who 
wore look of much importance, save when spoken to by 
his masters. Unlike the Squire of Perling, whom he 
deemed as one of the great men of this earth, wore he 
never on his face an expression of wonder, but seemed 
rather to have known aforehand all that came to pass. 


246 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


Rode we to Westward at easy pace all day, save for two 
hours at the noon when had we good dinner at an inn 
close by the wayside. That night lay we at the Black 
Boar Inn, where was the food indifferent; and our three 
beds, in one large chamber, were hard and not o’er-clean. 
Had not our host the look of one in whom to place much 
trust; so when we went to rest I bolted the door, and 
placed my pistols and the sword as well within easy reach. 
Was there one large window which did we leave well 
opened so that we might have the more air, for was the 
night warm and sultry. 

Had the travel of the day wearied much my pupil Dick, 
whose slow, deep breathing bespoke the truth that were 
his slumber sound, despite the hardness of his bed. Yet 
did it seem that sleep were ill-disposed to come to me; 
and though lay Dave in silent way upon his bed nigh to 
the window, breathed he not like to one asleep. Might it 
have been past the midnight hour, when I heard the 
sound of a horse’s hoofs, which seemed to stop at the inn 
door. Then did I fancy that I heard two voices, which 
were both low in tone. Hot long thereafter I heard a 
noise, as if some one without were trying our door in soft 
fashion. Gave me this thing no disquiet, since was I 
minded that we had fastened well our bolt. Then dropped 
I off into a doze, from which I soon awoke and perceived 
upon our window-sill, and as if against the sky with its 
shining stars, the figure of a man who seemed to be in 
act of climbing in. Reached I quickly for a pistol, yet 
ere I found this thing, sprang nimbly to his feet our 
Dave. Then heard I the thump of his well-closed fist 
upon the intruder’s body. And now did the fellow fall 
out backward from the window. Then came to my ears 


CROSS SEAS. 


247 


the sound of his striking in heavy way upon the ground 
without. Sprang I to the window and looked down. 
Was the ground about the double of a man’s height below; 
yet was it not light there, as in the much-starred sky, 
and so perceived I naught. Yet I heard sound, as if of 
some one crawling off to the right in slow fashion. And 
now did Dave give one long yawn, and say as stretched 
he out upon his bed : 

‘^In faith have I been looking for that same rogue these 
hours; and now that doth he know the weight of my 
right arm will I take my rest.” 

And in no time thereafter was honest Dave a-snoring. 
Had not Eichard been awaked by all this, and did it now 
seem high time that I as well should be at my slumbers, 
as in truth were I some few moments after I had lain 
me down again. In the morn did my pupil burst forth 
in hearty laughter when had I told him how Dave in 
such quick fashion got rid of the intruder. Yet had not 
our honest serving man himself one word to say touching 
his doughty deed. When came we down into the common 
room to break our fast, did I note that our host looked at 
us in uneasy way from out the corners of his eyes. Then, 
as if I had no thought that he himself well knew of this 
same thing, I related to the publican how Dave had in 
speedy manner turned away our unbidden guest. Yet 
burst not forth the fellow in merriment, as many would 
have done. The rather did he wax loud with pretended 
wrath, and say: 

^^Know I the villain who hath dared again to make 
entrance to my house, at dead of night, with thought to 
rob the sleeping! Have I oft unto the justices made my 
complaints; and yet so intent are they each upon his own 


248 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


affairs that hath this man not been apprehended. . And 
doth he, by his wicked and unlawful comings to mine 
house, do hurt unto my trade. Oh, good sir, why didst 
thou not shoot him dead when was he within the window ? 
God grant that some night I shall fall upon him when 
prowls he within my doors. Then will I have in truth 
justice on him by the taking of his life !” And when had 
he gone on in this way for some while longer, did he ask : 
‘^Dost thou and thy companions ride towards town of 
Bristol 

^AVhy do you ask me this, my friend said I in turn. 

‘^Only that I might tell thee much, sir, concerning the 
road that thou shouldst take,” said he now in fawning 
way. 

Whereat did I thank him for his offer, and harkened 
unto the man as he warned me which turnings of the 
way I should avoid. Was it fine morning, albeit some- 
what over warm, when set we forth upon our second 
day of journeying. Had we gone on nigh to a league, 
when silent Dave caused his nag to quicken pace, and 
came he up beside me. Then said he naught, hut did 
point his thumb o’er his right shoulder. As turned I 
round and looked hack upon the road, I perceived two 
horsement riding at headlong speed in same direction as 
were we going. While gained they fast upon us, did I note 
that the twain were both ill-looking fellows. And when 
I beheld them place small masks upon their faces, had 
I no longer doubt that these were rogues who scoured 
the highways. Then I drew forth my two pistols and 
looked well to their primings. Next did I place one of 
these within the hand of honest Dave. Said he no word, 
hut he gave me look that showed full plainly I might 


CROSS SEAS. 


249 


depend on him to bring down one of these two fellows, 
if they should draw too nigh unto us. Pulled we in our 
reins, and turned to face the masked rogues. Then did 
I tell Eichard to have no fear, hut to hold himself behind 
his tutor and his faithful Dave. And pleased was I to 
perceive the lad showed no sign of terror, hut in quiet 
way did as had I hidden him. Eode on they of the high- 
way till they were nigh to pistol shot of us, when they 
reined in their foaming beasts, and seemed to speak with 
each other. Was it full plain they had not looked for us 
to put on such hold front. Did I deem it wise now to 
hold up my pistol, as if to look once more to the lock, 
and as well made Dave a show of his pistol. Were the 
rascals not now minded to put to the proof their valor, 
for turned they their horses’s heads and rode hack toward 
the Eastward. 

‘^^Have they no doubt gone,” I said to my companions, 
^That they may assure the Black Boar’s host that so far 
have we not missed the way.” 

At this did Eichard laugh loudly; yet came there no 
smile upon the face of Dave, since no doubt he were 
wishing to have it seem that he had looked for this same 
speech of mine. Eode we on at good pace, and baited in 
the noon time at another inn where was the food of 
wretched kind. The host thereof was a pale man with 
shifty eyes, the glance of which I liked not. Was the 
afternoon most pleasant, and save that we strayed once 
some small distance from off the road, was there now 
naught to try us. Did Eichard seem to find much to 
please him in the quiet scenes along the way. Came we 
that same even upon the White Horse Inn, where though 
the house were already nigh to full of guests, we were 


250 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


yet given clean, soft beds, and as well the best of prov- 
inder. Was the host a short, stout man with a face that 
beamed with good health, and honesty as well. 

The next day some little past the noon rode we into 
Bristol. With remembrance of the throngs of London, 
did I deem this a quiet place; yet was Eichard much 
amazed at the number of the houses, and as well of the 
people whom he saw upon the streets. Looked I more 
than once around at Dave Thomas to learn if he were 
not much impressed by what he beheld. Wore he now 
his most important look, yet was there naught about him 
that would seem to show that he saw one thing which he 
deemed strange in smallest way. And yet had he ne’er 
afore looked even from the distance on one large town. 
Came we at last upon an inn that was like to serve our 
purpose. When had we our dinner did I set forth alone, 
and going down among the ships made I inquiries for one 
that would soon set sail for some port in the North of 
France. Found I at length one, by name the Greyhound, 
which had on board much merchandise that was to be 
carried to the port of Boulogne. Made I bargain with 
the master of this ship to take with him my pupil and 
myself and Dave, and as well our three beasts. Did he 
say he would set sail upon the morrow about the hour of 
noon. As I now looked out for the first time upon the 
sea was I much impressed by the wide-stretching sight. 

Had we our three horses safe on board the Greyhound 
before the noon of the next day. And when the tide 
began to fall did the master, Jenks by name, give order 
for the spreading of the sails. As dropped we out into 
the arm of the great sea, and felt the ship swaying neath 


CROSS SEAS. 


251 


our feet, did all seem to myself most strange. And as 
well my pupil marked how new in truth were the scene 
and motion. Yet did Dave Thomas look about him, as if 
were he well used to sailing on the seas, albeit he kept 
well his hand upon a railing of the bulwark, lest he should 
stagger with th emovings of the ship. As wore away the 
hours Richard complained of feelings of discomfort, and 
soon gave he way to pangs of illness from the tossing of 
the craft upon the long swells of the sea. Albeit were my 
stomach never over strong, yet did I escape this sickness. 
Turned our serving man most pale, and were I of firm 
belief that he suffered full as much as his young master. 
Yet did he cling bravely to his railing with look of much 
calmness, and strove to act as if he found pleasure in the 
salt air and the spray. Kept I well awake throughout the 
night, and cared for my pupil the while. Had not Dave 
Thomas now the power to do aught for any one, though 
might I in vain have strove to wring from him confession 
of his illness. 

Went I upon the deck soon after break of day, and 
found that was the ship circled round with a thick wall of 
mist, beyond the which' might naught he seen. Was 
Jenks, the master, steering now his ship, while wore he 
an anxious look, and seemed to listen with intent ears. 
Were my own ears ever most keen to receive low or dis- 
tant sounds. And now did I note a strange noise that 
seemed to come from the direction in which was the ship’s 
prow pointed. Perceiving that I as well as he were in 
keen way listening, the master asked of me : 

^^Dost thou hear aught that is strange ?” 

Would I he sworn, my friend,” made I reply, ‘That 


252 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


we are nigh to dry land, for yonder,” pointing to where 
the noise seemed to come from, “must there now he some 
wolf that growls in low but savage way.” 

Whereat did the master in loud voice cry out to his 
seamen, who obeyed his quick commands to trim the 
sails, while at some time he pushed hard upon his tiller, 
causing the prow to swing far round unto the right. And 
soon was heard more loudly the sound which to me 
seemed surely to he naught else than some wolf^s growl. 
Yet came it not now from on ahead, but rather from well 
off to the left. Then with look of much relief turned 
Jenks, the master, to me, and said: 

“Comes that sound, sir, from the deadly Wolf Eock, 
which lurks just at the surface of the sea. And though 
doth it ever growl out warnings of its presence, hath it 
taken many lives. Is it in faith a reef most dangerous 
of kind; and have I great dread of that same whenever 
do I pass around Land’s End.” 

Soon thereafter the mist began to rise, and could we 
see the land most plainly. Came the wind now more 
strong, and from out the Northeast. Hence did stand 
the ship over toward the coast of France. When were we, 
late in the day, beyond the sight of any land, I much 
wondered at the even roundness of the great horizon. 
And to my eyes looked most strange the masts of distant 
ships, of the hulls of which could I see naught, since were 
these down below our vision. Upon the morrow had Dick 
in full way recovered from his illness; and came he on 
deck in best of spirits, and pointed out some far-off masts 
that looked to him like great pegs. As well had Dave 
Thomas once more power to stand upon his feet. Yet 
so perverse was the man that he gave in no way an ex- 


CROSS SEAS. 




pression of the joy he surely must have felt at thought 
that had his sickness left him. Did we about the noon 
come in closer to the shores of France. With these in our 
full view, kept on the ship until the sun went down. Then 
in the early twilight did Jenks, the master, call to his 
seamen to drop the anchor and furl well the sails. Were 
we now just outside the town of Boulogne. 


254 : 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


XXII. 

CONSTANCE. 

Scarce had we upon the morrow got upon the shore 
our beasts, together with the large saddle-hags which had 
Dave the care of, when were we beset by certain officers 
who served the great Henry, and as well the Duke of 
Sully. Did they ask many questions of us, or the rather 
of myself, since did they perceive that I alone might com- 
prehend and make answer to their words. Told I to them 
who we were, and whence came we, and as well the pur- 
pose for which had we crossed the waters. Did they seem 
to he vexed with their doubts as to the truth of what I 
said, till had I in quiet way slipped into the palm of each 
a coin. Then did the bearing of these officers quick 
change, and found I myself of a sudden to be none less 
than ‘^Milor Walter.” And with much bowing and tine 
words they wished us a most pleasant journey. Did one of 
them express his wonder that I, who were in look and 
ways an Englishman, yet spoke the French tongue so well. 
But for all this I perceived that for want of use had my 
tongue lost some of that skill in way of French accent, 
which had I gained under the teaching of Don Jose. Did 
we not tarry long within the town, but set out upon the 
road which from Boulogne ran to the South. Was I full 
resolved that our journey should not end till came we 
nigh to where dwelt Constance Leigh. 


CONSTANCE. 


255 


Perceived I that the people of France were more meagre 
than they of my own country. Nor does this thing seem 
to be all from cause that they eat with more of heartiness, 
and of food of the more substance, in England than do 
their neighbors just across the waters. Are the French 
oftimes in easy way excited, and are they given much to 
waving arms and moving bout in brisk fashion, and as 
well to shrugging much their shoulders. In truth hath not 
flesh such good chance for clinging to the bones of they, 
as doth it have with calm and more sluggish Britons. 
Whenever lay our way through some small village, would 
there come from out the houses people, whose dress and 
ways seemed strange to myself, and as well my pupil. 
And yet we no doubt looked full as strange unto them; 
for would they gaze long after us with wide-opened eyes, 
and speaking one to another in low, quick tones. And 
did I note that were Eichard Peasley and his tutor cause 
for no such wonder, as was Dave Thomas, who rode with 
his important look upon his face, yet paying naught of 
heed either unto the people or the sights. Were the inns 
whereat we paused for the most part neat and well kept. 
Would the hosts bow low; and rubbing much their hands, 
and with many writhes of body, sounded they the praises 
of their own wines and dishes. 

On the second even of our journey from Boulogne, when 
had we supped well, did I go out to our host, who sat on 
the porch of the inn and I asked of him if the chateau 
of the Count de Brecy were far off. 

^^Nay, good Milor,^^ made he reply, ^Tight sad am I to 
tell your worship that I do know naught of this Count 
whom thou dost pay honor to in thus asking where he 
dwells.^^ 


250 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


The same question put I the next night at the Sign of 
the Harp, whose host, busy though he were with a dozen 
other guests, thought for full a moment and then said with 
look of pain that could he not tell- me this thing. Yet 
the even thereafter when were we at the Ship Inn, and I 
asked of our host touching the chateau of the Count de 
Bercy, the man exclaimed : 

^^Didst thou not see, Milor, when thou passed betwixt 
the two high hills not half a league back upon the road, 
up above thee to the right a stone building with 

^Tn truth I did,” made I now interruption, “and in that 
same chateau doth dwell ?” 

“The Count de Brecy with his sister and his niece.” 

“Then at this same Ship Inn,” thought I, “are we like 
to tarry for some few weeks to come.” 

On the morrow sent I forth my pupil Dick to ramble 
for his health’s sake, while set Dave about the task of 
putting in convenient places the things that had he 
brought in the two saddle-bags. And from this labor 
were he free to turn himself to grooming our two horses 
and his nag as well. When had I dressed myself anew 
and with much care, walked I to Eastward for nigh half 
a league; and there having paused, gazed I upward to the 
stone chateau, where dwelt Constance Leigh. Strove I 
now to fancy how she would appear this day, when were 
she full thirteen years of age. 

How, strange to relate, though I had long while cher- 
ished much the wish that I might come to the chateau of 
the de Brecys, yet when was the same before me on the 
hill-top, did I long tarry by the side of the broad road 
that led toward Boulogne. And while stood I thus was 
there within me a sense of much uneasiness. At length 


CONSTANCE. 


257 


so high had climbed the sun within the heavens that I 
deemed it within an hour of noon. Then came to me the 
thought that it were not fitting that I should go up to the 
chateau, unbidden, at the hour of dinner. So did I walk 
some little w^ay down the road, and there rest me on a soft 
bank, nigh to a spring of cool and sparkling water. Had 
I now little wish for food, albeit was my thirst grown 
strong; and this did I well slake. Was the sun full two 
hours on its descent into the West, when at last came I 
to the steps of the chateau. And beheld I there, at frolic 
with a young greyhound, a most winsome maid of tail and 
supple form, with bright and merry hazel eyes, above 
soft, full cream-like cheeks, and beneath great waves of 
curling brown hair. When she perceived myself did she 
look shyly at me; and then turned she and seized by its 
collar the 3^oung dog, which now showed its teeth, 'and 
growled as if had it wish to be at me. Albeit I knew full 
well this were Constance, for had she yet some of the look 
of eight years gone by, had she no thought that there did 
pass in slow way up the steps an old and true friend of 
hers. Yet had I looked to see her there that day, whereas 
had she no thought of my coming. Upon the topmost 
step I paused and taking from off head my hat, I said : 

^^Dost thou not know me, Constance ?” 

Looked she at myself in puzzled way for full a moment, 
and then did there seem to come up from her old mem- 
ories those of Clayton Hall. And sparkled much her 
lovely eyes with pleasure, as she exclaimed : 

^^As do I live, art thou my old friend, Walter!” 

How did she push from her the greyhound, and come 
quickly to me, holding out her small, smooth hand, the 
which I took in gentle way, and bending o’er it pressed I 
17 


258 


SIR WALTER OF REFT. 


my lips thereon. Then while I stood, yet with bowed 
head, gazing in way of admiration on the maid, came there 
into her white cheeks a blush, albeit were there in her eyes 
a bright gleam of pleasure. Next did she say: 

^^And though thou wert but boy when was I in England, 
art thou now full a man. And have I not much grown 
since the days when thou didst come to me at Clayton 
Hall?” 

Did it delight her much when I declared that she had 
grown in way that were in truth cause for much of 
wonder. 

^^And once sent I to thee message,” said I now. ‘‘Was 
the bearer the good Count de Noye, whom I saw at Bid- 
well, when dwelt I with my guardian.” 

“And brought he that same unto myself,” said she 
again with blush, “and I gave to him a kiss for that he 
had so done. But tell me what brings thee here in 
France ?” When had I told to her the cause of this same, 
I perceived upon her soft brow one small frown. Then 
went she on thus : “Art thou come to be a tutor ? 
Thought I that thy dear sire, whom they did say was 
dead, had large estate. And was he not by title what they 
call a Knight?” 

“Was he Knight, dear Constance, and was he called Sir 
Philip, albeit was there then, as is there still, much of 
debt upon our good estates of Merton. And though am 
I for the present tutor, am I none the less an English 
Knight. And couldst thou in truth call me Sir Walter.” 

Then I related to her how had I gone to the Court of 
Elizabeth to save my old tutor, and had there received 
honor of knighthood. Did she listen unto me with wide 
open eyes; and when had I told her all of those things that 


CONSTANCE, 


259 


I deemed like to be of interest to her, led she the way 
into the wide hall of the chateau, at the end of which per- 
ceived I a lady, who had much of the look of Constance. 
Was this in truth her mother, who was standing by a 
cabinet. Within the opened door of this were certain 
handsome plates of silver, the which did she examine, no 
doubt as to their cleanliness. When had her daughter 
presented me, did the Lady Leigh greet me in pleasant 
fashion. Then told I her of Don Jose, whom had I saved 
from the scalfold, and who had himself preserved her 
whole family upon the Eve of St. Bartholomew. Did 
there cross her face a look, as if had come up within her 
mind memories of the awful time of which had I thus 
given to her reminder. Then she asked with much of 
interest touching Don Jose. And when had I told her of 
his death at the home of his old comrade, did she sigh, 
though not in way of much sadness, as no doubt she 
deemed it better for this old wanderer that he had gone 
unto his home. Then Constance asked of her mother if 
she should take me unto her uncle in his library. Was 
there for an instant a look of doubt upon the yet comely 
face of the Lady Leigh; and then did that same disappear, 
as said she: 

^AVould my brother no doubt be glad to welcome Sir 
Walter, and as well to hear from him of our friend who 
succored us in the time of pressing need.’^ 

When had fair Constance led me into the library, per- 
ceived I seated with a book in hand a gentleman of a pale 
face with black hair, and beard which was trimmed in 
careful manner. Do I remember well the cold glance of 
his small dark eyes, which had a scheming and suspicious 
look. Was this the Count de Brecy, albeit did he bear 


260 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


most small resemblance to his sister, who like unto her 
daughter was of a frank and open face. When had my 
sweet young guide said to her uncle that I was her old 
friend, Walter Wynnington, who had since become 
Knight, and who had been well known unto Don Jose de 
Madura, did the Count relax his face into a chill smile, 
and say he were pleased to see me, and to hear of one 
who had in the past done his family some service. Then 
told I him of the later years and death of Don Jose, and 
when had I come to end of this, he said : 

^Tis well he hath thus passed away, for had he small 
pleasure in life. For the aid he once gave our family were 
we willing to show him all gratitude that might be in 
reason. Did he have perhaps more than passing fondness 
for a sister of mine, who died some years ago. Yet would 
not a union of the twain have been at all in reason. And 
after had he perceived this truth, was Don Jose not con- 
tent to accept our hospitality, which might have been 
freely his. And didst thou learn thy French of him 

“Did he teach to me, sir, not only French, but the Span- 
ish tongue as well,” made I reply. “And he likewise gave 
to me many lessons in the art of fencing.” 

“So, so, my young friend, later may I give thee chance 
to show how much he taught thee of this same art. But 
what is it that hath brought thee into the domains of the 
great Henry?” When had I told the Count I were here 
as tutor of a young gentleman, son of a rich English 
Squire, did he give one slight shrug of his thin shoulder, 
and then turning quickly to Constance, he said : “Go, my 
child, unto thy mother. Will thy guest in short time be 
again with thee.” 

As soon as had Constance left the room, the Count 


CONSTANCE. 


261 


much questioned me touching the condition of my estates. 
And when had I made^, as best I could, answer to him, he 
shook his head, and did say that ’twas his belief the 
leeches, who by grace of the Law Courts had fastened 
upon Merton, would ne’er in my day relax their grasp. 
Then asked he of myself if I were minded then to try the 
foils with him; and to this gave I consent in ready 
fashion. Led he the way from his library, which was in 
truth well fitted and adorned, into a smaller room which 
was for the most part bare. Was there here a suit of old 
armor, which I gazed upon and weighed with much of in- 
terest. Were there as well swords, both old and new, and 
full half a dozen foils. When had I lain aside my own 
sword, did I select a foil, as had already done my host. 
Had we exchanged not many strokes ere I perceived that 
at this thing I were master of the Count. Did I at first 
deem it wise to make concealment of my skill, and permit 
him to come off the victor. Hot only had I for him some 
of respect for reason of his years, but as well had I the 
wish to gain his favor, since was he uncle to fair Con- 
stance. And so it was that the Count began to wear a 
pitying look for me, his rival, whom had he begun to push 
in way of much vigor. Then came to me thought that he 
had to my mind failed of paying just honor to the memory 
of his preserver, Don Jose. And could I not now refrain 
from doing justice to the old man’s teachings, by the use 
of a certain thrust which had he taught me. Then did 
I await my chance, the v/hich I quickly seized, and sent 
his foil fiying from the hand of the astonished Count. 
Had he look of much vexation, as picked he his foil from 
off the floor. Then, trying it well with his hands, and 
looking o’er the handle in close manner, as if in hope of 


262 


8IR WALTER OF KENT. 


finding there some weak point npon the which to put the 
blame, he smiled in his cold fashion, and said : 

^‘Hast thou had a great stroke of luck. Sir Walter. Yet 
will we see if chance will again come in such quick way to 
give to thee a seeming victory.’^ 

Then crossed we again our foils, and seemed he to have 
the wish to try some of his own tricks. These did I in 
easy way set at naught, till had he made use of all such 
as were at his command. And then I tried another pass 
that Don Jose had shown me, and by which sent I again 
the foil from out the Count’s hand. Was his blood now 
well up, and when we next made trial of our skill went he 
at myself with much of fury, thinking no doubt that 1 
might not parry his more rapid thrusts. Yet did I this 
thing till were he grown weary. Then once more went I 
at him, and with a few strokes had him at my mercy. 
Now perceived he that he might not hope to o’ercome me 
at the foils, and made he acknowledgment that I were 
victor. Whereat did I strive to soften his defeat by say- 
ing: 

“In truth, sir, am I by reason of my youth far more 
quick upon my feet and with my wrist than art thou.” 

Did he nod his head, as if to say that had he ascribed 
my victories to naught else save the reasons I had named. 
Then said he, as I girded on again my own sword : 

“Would I no longer. Sir Walter, rob my niece of the 
pleasure of entertaining thee.” 

Was I not minded to quarrel with the Count de Brecy 
for that he dismissed me from his presence. And when 
had I come to Constance, she took me out into her gar- 
dens, where grew there many flowers of divers kinds. Told 
she me of each sort, and did I listen to her, albeit not 


CONSTAl!fCE. 


263 


heeding what she said, since were I so lost in admiration 
of herself. Likewise she caused me to smell of each kind, 
and then asked which one was most pleasing unto me. 
Before I made my answer I asked her to name that one, 
the perfume of which had most charmed her. Did she 
honor with her choice a certain flower, the which I now 
strive vainly to recall. Then said I : 

^^Do we in truth agree upon this same flower. For is 
the perfume of it passing sweet.” 

Next asked she of me which flower I most valued for 
its beauty. Again did I first question her touching her 
choice in this matter. And when had she named her 
favorite, I set seal of my approval upon the self same 
flower. Then plucked she for me a nosegay made up of 
these sweetest and fairest of her flowers. Did I receive 
the same with much show of thanks, and then kissed I 
the gift in tender way. When had we returned to the 
chateau, she told me of the lessons which had she from 
her mother, and of her embroideries, in which seemed she 
to take much of pleasure. When at length drew nigh the 
hour for supper, and I had seen not again either the Lady 
Leigh or the Count de Brecy, I took my leave of the sweet 
maid, kissing her hand in gallant fashion. Then did she, 
as I left her, bid me in hesitating way, to come again some 
time to see her mother and her uncle. 

When had I come hack to the hostel, I put the precious 
nosegay into water to end that I might preserve it the 
longer. Was there upon the face of Dick at our supper a 
better look than had I seen there in long while. And 
gained he health daily from his walks and rides, in some 
of which I bore him company, striving ever at such times 
to gain distant glimpses of the stone chateau. Meanwhile 


264 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


did Dave give some of his time to study of the French 
tongue, his tutor being Joan, a fair maid of the Ship Inn. 
Would he in parrot way, and with most important look, 
speak nigh to three score of words which had some small 
resemblance to the French, and were as well all nouns 
and verbs. Yet might it not have pleased the man to have 
beheld Joan, when behind his hack would she imitate the 
motion of his lips, and as well his manner. 

On the fourth day after my visit to Constance, did I 
again climb the hill and come unto the stone chateau of. 
the cold de Brecy. Eeceived I most kindly greeting from 
young Mistress Leigh, who again took me through her 
gardens and plucked for me another nosegay of our 
favored flowers, which received I in tender way and held 
with left hand close to my breast. When had we come 
into the wide hall I perceived the Lady Leigh, who gave 
me a word of greeting and a kindly look, albeit I noted 
then about her manner somewhat of constraint. Soon did 
she withdraw; and then Constance showed to myself some 
of her embroideries. And when had I praised these, she 
talked much about laces, velvets, and feathers, and such 
like things, for the which had I never much of liking. 
Would she ask of me if I liked this style of gown, or 
cloak, and that fashion of headdress. For the nonce made 
I great show of interest in such things. And had I no 
thought to dispute with her as to the things which she 
favored most. Came not in to us again her mother, nor 
caught I glimpse of the Count de Brecy. When took I 
my leave went Constance with me unto the door, yet were 
I not by her bidden to come again to the chateau. At 
parting pressed I my lips in gallant way upon her hand ; 
and as I moved down the steps did I turn in sudden way 


CONSTANCE. 


265 


and glance backward. Then beheld I Constance with her 
own lips pressed upon her hand where had I just kissed 
the same. And she perceiving that I had in this act 
caught her, blushed deeply and dropped her hand. Yet 
smiled she upon me most sweetly as waved I to her a last 
salute. As walked I back with light step unto the hostel, 
I said within myself that my love for the fair child had 
grown into a strong love for the budding maid, and in its 
turn would ripen into the deeper love for the glorious 
woman. 

Though upon the morrow I found much of joy in cher- 
ishing the last precious nosegay that had I received from 
hands of Constance, yet did I well weigh the truth that 
had her mother made show of some constraint when had 
she spoken to me. And now came thought that the Count 
de Brecy were not minded to have me again visit at his 
chateau. Might he have spoken his mind touching this 
matter to his sister, who in turn had told her daughter 
that she might not bid me come again. For full a week 
had I waited, longing to see Constance and yet deeming 
it wise not to go yet unto the chateau. Then I found that 
in this matter I had no longer power to keep myself with- 
in subjection. And so set I forth in hope of once more 
seeing and having speech with Constance. When came I 
to the door of the chateau, rushed there at me a large 
black dog that made as if to bite me; but when I gave the 
brute sharp look, and raised my foot as if to kick, did he 
sneak away. Knocked I three times ere was the door 
opened to me by a tall, thin serving man, whom had I seen 
last time I came there. Lurked there a smile about the 
corners of his mouth as he said : 

"'Was I bid to say to thee. Sir Walter, if thou shouldst 


266 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


come this day, that is my Lady caring for young Mistress 
Constance, who hath been ill these two days/^ 

Having said this in a soft tone, did he quickly, yet in 
gentle fashion, close the door upon me. As moved I with 
unhappy thoughts adown the hill, I chanced to turn my 
head and look up at the stone walls of the chateau. Then 
my eye caught the flutter of a kerchief from an upper 
window. Could this thing he done by no one save Con- 
stance; and so I made acknowledgment by kissing both 
my hands, and waving these so long as I perceived the 
moving kehchief. And every day thereafter, while tarried 
we at the Ship Inn, came I down the road at the self same 
hour, and stood where might I look up at the walls which 
held Constance. And there saw I each time the faint 
flutter of her herchief, while would I wave my hat and 
waft toward her kisses from my Angers, albeit I did fear 
she were too far off to perceive these. 

When were come the time to make departure for his 
home with Eichard, now browned and hardy from his 
many small journeys, were I loathe to give up this daily 
sight of that far-off kerchief, as it waved for me. Yet 
since it were my duty, I set day for our going. Went we 
not forth from our hostel in the morn, for did I find pre- 
text for delay till had come the hour when were I wont to 
make exchange of distant greetings with the maid I loved. 
And when rode we past the hill on which the chateau 
stood, I drew in my rein and fell behind Dave Thomas. 
Then when fluttered the small strip of white, made I reply 
with more than wonted vigor, knowing that would she 
perceive Twere meant in truth for my farewell. And re- 
mained my thoughts with her all that day, and for many 
days thereafter. 


XXIII. 


ANOTHER JOURNEY. 

Of our safe journey back to Boulogne, and thence by 
ship across the calm sea unto the port of Bristol, have I 
now but small remembrance, since were my thoughts so 
much intent upon one tender matter that had I no time to 
note the scenes along the way. Yet when our horses bore 
us at easy pace along the pleasant roads of Wiltshire, with 
Perling Manor not many leagues away, was I minded that 
Dave had lost a fair tutor, whom he no doubt did greatly 
miss. So reined I in my horse and waited for his coming 
up, when I said : 

^^Was it sad that thou didst lose her who was teaching 
to thee the language of the French. So would it please 
me much at odd times to take up with thee thy lessons in 
that same tongue, where Joan left off.” 

‘‘1 do thank thee for thy kindness. Sir Walter,” made 
he reply, ^^yet have I already French sufficient for my 
needs.” 

And in this he spoke truth; for I thereafter learned 
that whene’er went he in spruce attire among the merry 
English maids who were to his liking, were he wont with 
his important look to utter his two score and one dozen 
French words. And was it the more to their delight that 
they did comprehend naught of which gave he utterance 

267 


268 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


to. Have I in truth been told that by this same ac- 
complishment of his Dave won many hearts. 

^^As I do live/’ exclaimed Squire Peasley, when he be- 
held his Eichard coming with the glow of health upon his 
cheek, “is my son much better in his look than e’er before ! 
Is it wonderful — amazing! Must there be some good 
magic in the air of France! And yet, Walter, art thou 
grown thin and pale from thy sojourn in that same land. 
Is this thing as well most wonderful!” 

Made I no strife thereafter to put knowledge into Dick’s 
head at cost of good health. Yet did he none the less 
make what, for him, deemed I good progress. And went 
on life with us in smooth and even way for two years and 
full six months more. Then Eichard made complaint 
that were he troubled much by pains within his eyes. So 
did his sire give him firm command to open not a book 
for one whole month. And yet had my pupil no relief 
from his pains of eye. Went his tutor, with consent of 
Squire Peasley, to the house of Doctor Grumby and told 
him of Dick’s new ailment. Did he at first say in gruff 
tone that I had kept the lad too much at his books, and 
that had he now need but to keep his eyes from off such. 
Yet when I told him that my pupil had a month gone by 
given up books without improvement, the physician knit 
his brow, and then said that he would ride with me to 
Perling Manor. 

When had he much questioned Eichard, and looked well 
into his aching eyes, he said that might there be fear of 
blindness, if were not in speedy way applied the knife of 
some skilled surgeon. Had he not wish to make attempt 
of this with his own hand, but did he deem it well that 
Eichard should be taken unto a certain Doctor Dundas, 


ANOTHER JOURNEY. 


269 


who dwelt nigh to London city, upon the Oxford road. 
And would this same surgeon he able to use his knife in 
most skillful fashion. Did the Squire, and his Dame as 
well, say there was naught to do but to send their son at 
once in my care unto this same Doctor Dundas. Gave the 
physician to myself direction as to how should my pupiFs 
eyes he bandaged, as protection from the cold. As well 
he left some washes to he used while on the road, and like- 
wise a letter which wrote he and gave to me, saying I 
should deliver it into the hands of Doctor Dundas. Did 
we at once set about our preparations for the journey. 

This time had we not for serving man Dave Thomas, 
since he the year before took to wife a widow, who brought 
to him nine hundred guineas, with the which had he set 
up in Berkshire a hostel ; and by this same he thrived for 
many years. The man whom sent the Squire with us was 
a thin-faced and smooth-tongued young rascal by name 
of Mark. Bore he himself unto his youthful master and 
myself in most cringing way,, and ready was he ever to 
accept of small trifles. And would such oft get into his 
hands without our having made him gift of them. So, 
when it chanced that one of us did miss that for which we 
stood in need, would we make mention of the thing to 
Mark, who would at once go in search of it. And when 
had he found this, would he bring it to its owner with 
most servile hows and words. As Avere we about to set 
forth well-wrapped one morn late in the month of Feb- 
ruary, I perceived riding up the avenue my guardian. Sir 
Francis. When had he come in before a Are, and having 
removed his cloak and refreshed himself with one good 
glass of light wine, did he smile upon myself with most 
beaming face, and say : 


270 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


dear boy, Walter, have I much pleasure in telling 
thee that art thou like to have Merton, free of cumhrance, 
and in thine own hands, within a six month.” 

In rendering to him my thanks for these joyful tidings 
I made it plain how truly glad I were at thought that 
^twould then he within my power to pay hack the sums, 
which in his kindness had he placed within my needy 
hands. And came there as well to me the thought that 
with a knowledge of my means, might the Count de Brecy 
look in way of more favor upon Sir Walter Wynnington 
of Merton Hall. Then Sir Francis said: 

‘^Do I know well a certain high and mighty Judge of 
the Queen’s Bench, who hath given promise to attend 
unto thy matter. Will he not forget to do this same, for 
doth he look to me for a certain service. And have I 
made it known to him that I shall render him that he 
desires just so soon as shall he do thee this good turn 
which doth lie within his power.” 

In answer to my questions touching his family, he said 
that the Lady Wynnington were in good health, and that 
spoke she of myself with more and more of respect, and 
kindly feeling. And when had I given expression of my 
pleasure at knowledge of this, went on my guardian to 
say that his Walter was happy in the hope of marrying 
Maud de Wycherly within a year. Yet were this fair 
spinster given to the trial of her suitor’s feelings at times 
by casting glances of much archness upon others than 
himself. Was the Lady Wynnington well pleased to have 
for her son’s wife the daughter of a Baron who held high 
his head, albeit did it in some way cause her grief to per- 
ceive that he whom had she ever doted on, gave now no 
thought but unto another. Sir Francis told me that he 


ANOTHER JOURNEY. 


271 


■were now on his way to Bristol town upon a matter of his 
own, which needed much his looking to. When had I 
wished him well in this business, found I that Squire 
Peasley and his Dame had took leave of their Eichard, 
who with Mark and our horses were already awaiting me 
without. So said I farewell to Sir Thomas in grateful 
way, and left him in the Squire’s company. As rode I 
forth from Perling, with Dick by my side and Mark fol- 
lowing us, did I fancy Squire Peasley, with opened mouth 
and eyes of wonder, hearing from Sir Francis that he who 
had dwelt some years within his household as tutor to his 
son, were like soon to be master of his own estates and set 
up as gentleman. 

As our better road lay through Berkshire I contrived 
that we should lie the second night upon our journey at 
the hostel of Dave Thomas. Was it past the nightfall 
when came we upon the shining lights of his Myrtle Inn. 
Then leaped I from off my horse, and helped Eichard to 
the ground, while came a man from out the stable to aid 
Mark with the saddle-bags and horses. As led I my pupil 
by the arm, and entered in the door, I perceived Dave 
Thomas seated in the common room. Around him were 
full a dozen of the folk from a nigh hamlet, who gazed at 
him in wonder as did he with his important look repeat 
unto them his few and broken words of French. Though 
our coming thus gave to him naught of surprise, yet set 
he about to make our stay at his inn a pleasant one. Was 
the wife, who had brought to him the guineas by the 
which had he set up as publican, a comely woman who 
took much of pride in her husband, and oft looked at him 
■with loving eyes. Yet showed he not for her the same 
fondness ; and in truth when glanced he on her was there 


272 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


in his face a look that bespoke his wish to chide her for 
the doing of this or the not doing of that. Did he look 
at Mark in sharp way, when came into the room onr man; 
and when were he gone Dave spoke of the time when he 
himself were with us upon our travels. And with a sigh 
he said: 

‘Tear I, Sir Walter, that this Mark of thine doth at 
times sadly put thee out by his clumsy way and uncouth 
manners.” 

Upon the morrow set we forth again. As might not 
Eichard make use of his well-handaged eyes upon the 
road, I for the most part led for him his horse. Did the 
weather stay most fair and mild for that season ; and thus 
it was we came, full a day sooner than had we looked for, 
unto the house of the skilled Doctor Dundas. When the 
surgeon, who was a lean, sharp-featured man, with small 
but searching eyes, had read to end the letter which was 
writ to him by Doctor Grumby, his face wore smiling look, 
and he said : 

“Hope I for much of pleasure from this case my friend 
hath sent me. Shall young Eichard Peasley have home 
with me till sets he out again for home with well eyes.” 

Was I much pleased to have the Doctor take on himself 
the whole charge of this my pupil, since might I have 
vainly been at much pains to find for him lodgings well 
suited to his needs. Did I find for myself and Mark such 
entertainment as stood we in need of at the Leopard Inn. 
Went Mark daily to attend upon his young master; and 
as well did I go the first two days to the house of Doctor 
Dundas to find out how thrived my Eichard. Yet seemed 
not the surgeon pleased at my coming thus, since he no 
doubt was of belief that I were minded to advise with 


ANOTHER JOURNEY. 


273 


him touching the care of my charge, for which thing he 
had no wish. And when on my second visit I withdrew, 
he said to me : 

^^Thou needst not. Sir Walter, give unto thyself the 
pother of coming every day to my house, for will I each 
even send to thee by the serving man word as to how hath 
been the young master that same day. And in truth is it 
far better for the lad to be alone.” 

Gave I the surgeon my assurance that his wishes in 
this matter should have my respect. And so each even, 
when came back Mark to the Leopard, I would ask of him 
how did his master, and what had he said. Gave to me 
Mark, with but little help of questions, a full account of 
all which that day had he seen and heard. And was I 
pleased to learn that was my pupil doing well in the hands 
of his skilled surgeon. One day as set forth Mark to go 
to his master, came into my head the thought that he 
might be taken with a sudden fondness for certain things 
of small value, which should he see at the house of Doctor 
Dundas. Then would he from habit be like to lay hands 
upon the same. So in a pleasant tone, said I to him : 

^Tn truth, Mark, art thou good, honest servant; and 
doth thy master think well of thee. Now, if thou shouldst 
find in the house of the good Doctor any small trifle, of 
sort to place in pocket with ease and convenience, do thou 
name the thing to me, and when go I in to London the 
first day, mayhap I shall find its mate within some shop. 
Then will I m-ake purchase of the same for thyself.” 

Whereat the man grew somewhat pale, and then he said 
in cringing tone that I were very kind to him, and if he 
perceived some such thing should he name it to me, and 
would he forever value highly that same present. Did T 
18 


274 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


now suspect that he had made off already with some such 
article, the which I doubted not he took back and left 
within its proper place. Nor put he to proof my offer, 
for named he no thing that had caught his fancy while in 
the surgeon’s house. When had I no cause to worry for 
Eichard, whose eyes improved in steady way, began the 
days with me to draw heavily along. Then had I resort 
to London as aid in passing time. In the visits that I 
made to that great town saw I many things which no 
doubt I would now deem fit to write down here, were it 
not that the memory of one, whom there I knew by 
chance, doth in my mind make worthy of the mention 
naught save what did appertain unto that person. 

One day about the hour of noon, when wandered I along 
the streets not far off from Blackfriars, and watched in 
idle way the sights, I noted going before me a strong- 
built man, who might have been some skilled artisan upon 
a holiday. Bore he in his arms a child, which I deemed 
to be about the age of two years ; and by his side walked a 
thin woman of red and shrewish visage, who might have 
been no one save his own wife. Were she dressed in a 
gown of bright hues, and wore a cloak of same fashion. 
Of a sudden did the child burst forth into loud cries, and 
kick much its feet, and clutch its little hands. Then ex- 
claimed the woman in tone of much vexation: 

^^Tom, dost thou not perceive our little love to be in 
state of much worry ? And yet thou walkest on as if there 
happened naught to claim thy wandering thoughts ! Thou 
great stupid thing, canst thou not soothe our Harry 

Yet was small Harry not then minded to be soothed, 
since did he scream and kick the more for every one of 
his fond father’s gentle words. Then the woman caught 


ANOTHER JOURNEY. 


275 


by his sleeve poor Tom, causing him to pause. From out 
his arms she next took the squalling child, and much 
dancing this, she cried out to the man, who stood gazing 
at her in perplexed way : 

“Dost thou not see our angel is crying for somew’at 
which it doth crave? Think, thou dolt, what may it he 
the dear child so much wishes 

And now lost I of a sudden all sight and thought of the 
twain and their screaming babe. For across the way did 
I by chance perceive a gentleman of a pleasing face and 
mien, who was gazing most intently upon the scene which 
before had caught my eye. Did I deem him to be nigh 
to forty years of age, and was he dressed like one of some 
substance. About the man was that which could I not 
name, yet which did in strange way attract me. Was 
there around his mouth an odd smile, which bespoke the 
truth that while he were not minded to blame either the 
scolding woman, or the man who took so readily her un- 
just words, yet was he amused in most keen way by this 
small show of nature. Was his face in truth that of one 
who was given much to observing closely all that might 
excite his interest. Did I there and at once name, to my- 
self this one as no mortal of the common sort. When had 
his interest in them seemed somewhat to flag, were the 
twain moving on with child much quieted. Then did this 
pleasing person in one quick glance seem to perceive that 
I were watching him in nigh to as intent a way as he him- 
self had looked upon the others. Then turned he, and 
with easy, graceful step walked up the street, and at a 
nigh corner disappeared. 


276 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


XXIV. 

WILL SHAKESPEAEE. 

Thought I much that day of the gentleman I had seen 
nigh to Blackfriars. And the same night did I in my 
dreams come upon him again, albeit were there now much 
of strangeness in his look and action. The next day went 
I once more into London, and wandered mnch about, look- 
ing into the faces of they whom perceived I approaching 
from the distance, in the vain hope that I might see the 
features of him who had so impressed me. As went I 
back unto the Leopard, I said to myself : 

^^Might I walk London’s streets a month without chanc- 
ing once again upon him. In truth how know I that he 
be yet in the great town 

The noon-time of the day thereafter found me again in 
London’s streets, and while were I looking at this and 
that thing, I came upon a tavern, the sign of which I per- 
ceived to be a swan. Then did I remember to have heard 
it said that poets, and as well players, were wont to meet 
each other at the Swan Tavern. Since had I wish to see 
with my own eyes what such were like, and I were minded 
at same time to refresh myself, went I in the place. And 
as I glanced around, did I behold at a far table my gentle- 
man, with full half a score of others seated and standins: 
round about him. Were he no doubt making now for his 
listeners some jests, for would they all burst forth into 


WILL SHAKESPEARE. 


277 


loud laughter. Took I a seat and called for ale. Of the 
waiting-man who brought to me the same, I asked : 

^^Who may be the one yonder, who by his pleasant words 
doth seem so much to entertain the others 

^‘What, good Master,” made this man reply, with look 
of much wonder on his face, ‘Most thou not know Will 
Shakespeare of the company of the Globe, who writes for 
them their plays. Do I like him for naught else than that 
he be kind and gentle to they of my condition. Know I 
not of my own self whether he writes ill or good.” Here 
did he lower much his voice: “Have I heard Ben Jonson 
yonder,” nodding toward a gentleman seated at another 
table, and not far off from myself, “say his plays have 
many faults.” 

Gave I the man a shilling for that he had told me these 
things. Was I well pleased to find that the one who had 
so impressed me were the poet, as well as player, of whom 
had I heard. As well had I memory of hearing more than 
one speak of Ben Jonson as a poet of some promise. As 
sipped I my cup of ale, would I look at J onson, while were 
I resting my two eyes from gazing upon Shakespeare. 
Did the younger poet seem to be nigh to thirty years of 
age, and had he look of one to whose clear mind were 
given vantage of much learning. Yet withal was there 
about his face a sour and a crabbed look. More than once 
I saw him turn an envious glance toward the elder poet, 
seated as he were with admiring eyes and ears on every 
side. Presently came a gentleman with gray hair and 
with a most proud mien, and taking seat nigh to Jonson, 
he made motion of his head toward Shakespeare, and did 
say: 


278 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Master Will most nimble with his tongue, the which 
in faith hath the rare power to lay ready hold on wit.” 

^^As to his wit, Sir John,” said Jonson with a look of 
some vexation, ^hs he ready enough; but dost thou not 
mark the many faults which are in his writing. Doth he 
oft blunder when his parts of speech he puts together. 
And hath he in most reckless way make coinage of count- 
less words that I had never seen or heard afore. As well 
hath he had small learning — a smatter of the Latin, and 
much less of Greek ” 

“Yet, Jonson,” put in the other, “is there not about his 
lines a strange, smooth sweetness ?” 

“True, Sir John,” replied Ben Jonson, again with envy 
in his look, “there is that about his verse.” 

“And doth he not show a deep knowledge of mankind, 
the which might he gain only by constant study of the 
subject?” 

“I grant you that. Sir John.” 

“And is not Will Shakespeare right down good fellow ?” 

“Am I second to no man. Sir John, in friendly feelings 
toward our Will, albeit do I at times find his rare overflow 
of spirits hard to repress.” 

“Ben Jonson, like I the man, and his grand poetry as 
well. Yet have I thought it strange he seeks ever to get 
patent of gentility — aspires to become a country gentle- 
man, when is his family, as have I been told, of common 
sort.” 

“You speak truth. Sir John; and is he ever seeking 
money, which doth he save with end to one day becoming 
country gentleman. Am I told that he lends out money 
at interest.” 

Then was Jonson minded that he had business else- 


WILL SHAKESPEARE. 


279 


where at that hour with a certain man, and did he leave 
the Swan. A moment later went also from the place the 
prond Sir John; whatever might be his name of family 
have I never learned. And presently did I note that 
Shakespeare had arisen to his feet, and was m^aking to- 
ward the door. As walked he on his glance fell upon me, 
and then with a most pleasant smile turned he aside and 
came to where I sat. In a manner that was gentle, and a 
tone that did attract, he said : 

saw thee, friend, two days gone by, when we did 
view the vixen as she visited the child’s small sins upon 
the father’s head. Doth it amuse me much to watch these 
same unreasoning ways of foolish mortals. And am I full 
sure that thou thyself hast eye for that same thing.” 

Had I now arisen to my feet, and in stammering way I 
assured the poet that I were grateful to him for that had 
he noticed me; and I begged of him that he would honor 
me yet further by having with me a glass of wine. Gave 
he to this in smiling fashion his consent. Then while we 
vfaited for the wine to be brought to us, had he from 
myself who I was, and what had brought me to London, 
and as well the truth that did I expect within a half year 
to have in my possession the estates of Merton, free of 
cumbrance. Then he said: 

^^Art thou. Sir Walter, to be envied much. Wilt thou 
be Knight and country gentleman as well. Like unto that 
is there no life on earth. To be the same hath ever been 
my strife and strong desire. And will the thing be 
brought to pass within a few short years.” 

Then he gazed upon the wall, as if he in fancy already 
saw himself as fain would he be. When had come the 
wine and we did sip the same, asked I of Shakespeare if 


280 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


liked he not the bustle of the busy world, amid the which 
had he so long moved. With shake of head made he reply: 

^^Oftimes am I most lonely in the throngs, and sigh for 
company of woods and fields.^^ 

^^But, sir,^^ I urged, ^^is it not most pleasing unto thee 
to have thy verses much applauded by admiring crowds 

Was there upon his face a weary look, as he replied: 

^^Would I have quiet where the Avon flows.” 

Then sighed he deeply, and asked of me if I were 
minded to remain longer at the Swan. I assured him that 
if he were now about to leave the place, it would for me 
have small attraction. Whereat he smiled and said that 
were he himself in humor for a walk, and that I were free 
to bear him company. Did I render thanks for what I 
deemed his kindly offer. And set we forth at once, pass- 
ing along the busy streets, where my poet with his deep 
glance observed the face of many of they whom we passed. 
And of some, when had we got beyond them, would he 
make comment, sometimes in serious way, and again in 
fashion that would arouse my mirth. At length did he 
pause before a certain house, and ask of me if I would 
know the place again. When had I assured him that I 
should hold that house well within my memory, he shook 
me gently by the hand, and said : 

^^Here now impatient waits my Muse for me. Shalt 
thou be welcome any day it is thy wish to come. Fare- 
the-well. Sir Walter.” 

Whereat, • without a further word, did he enter in his 
door and close the same after him. Went I back unto the 
Leopard pondering much upon the man, and thinking of 
my rare good fortune in chancing thus upon him. On the 
morrow came to me a message from Doctor Dundas, say- 


WILL SHAKESPEARE. 


281 


ing he had wish to see me. When had I come to the sur- 
geon^s house, found I my pupil Eichard, with his eyes 
once more sound and well. Gave he to myself a long 
account of how had the knives been with skill applied, and 
how had thereafter his trouble slowly passed away. Came 
in unto us, with look of much pleasure, good Doctor Dun- 
das; and though he made pretence of speaking in modest 
way of what had he done for Eichard, yet did I perceive 
that he were at heart full proud of this same thing. Did 
he say that the young heir of Perling would he fit to start 
for home upon the morrow next but one. When in the 
morn Mark were about to wait upon his master, did I hid 
him to get that even all things in readiness for our de- 
parture; and said I as well that I would pass that night 
myself in London. For was I minded not alone to see 
Will Shakespeare at his lodging, hut as well to make visit 
to the Globe Theatre, where was to he played his tragedy 
of Eichard the Third. 

When had I come within the town the same day, I kept 
my eye well open for some convenient hostel. And found 
I one to my liking not far from Blackfriars. Here I be- 
spoke a bed for the night, and as well took now my dinner. 
Then went I to the Swan; but after had I entered in, did 
not the place have attraction for me such as on the day 
before, since now saw I there no Shakespeare. Did I per- 
ceive Ben Jonson at a far table, busied with some letters. 
Leaving the place I made my way unto the lodgings of 
my poet, at the door of which I knocked. Was I admitted 
by a neat maid-servant, who when had I told her I had 
come with his permission to see Master Shakespeare, did 
she direct me to ascend the staircase, and then to knock 
upon the door of first right hand room. Did I as she had 


282 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


bid me, and in answer to my summons heard I the gentle 
voice of Shakespeare bidding me to enter. Opened I the 
door and went in a large, pleasant room, where beheld I 
the poet at a table, and in act of writing. Craved I his 
pardon for that I had thus made interruption of his work ; 
but he gave to me direction to take seat, since would he 
within a few moments be at my service. As had he 
directed me, so did I; and looking about the room per- 
ceived I another door that was part way ajar, showing the 
curtains of his bed. I noted that there were about the 
room but few books. Went on the poet now to write, 
which thing did he in swift manner, stopping not to 
scratch out and replace this word or that, as have I oft 
done in this small history. Of a sudden he paused, and 
perceived I a look of some vexation on his face. Then 
did he start as if to write again; yet set he down no word, 
but the next moment threw down his pen. Now with a 
laugh, he said: 

^^Hath that shy one, my Muse, just fled from me.’^ 
Then looking upward into the empty air, went he on: 
^AVhy wilt thou be so coy ? ^Tis but my friend. Sir Walter 
Wynnington, who would well please a wiser maid.” Then 
turning unto myself : ^^Should there another woman 
come in here, the which do God forbid, there might be 
cause for her to fly, as if in jealous huff. And yet in turn 
the jade will tyrant be. When are my nerves on edge, Tis 
then the time she hath me by the nose and leads me to my 
table, where she says: ‘^Will we in sooth grind out some 
verses now.’ ” 

Did I beg of him that I should be given his permission 
now to leave, so that he might have back his Muse. But 
would he not permit of this, saying that he were now 


WILL SHAKESPEARE. 


283 


minded to rest from his writing for a while, and as well 
to refresh himself by entertaining me. Then went he to 
a cupboard, from which he brought a flask of white wine 
with two glasses. Was this v/ine most pleasant to the 
taste, and when seemed it to mount unto the head, did it 
this thing in right gentle way. And now began my poet 
to talk in rapid fashion, hut yet with much of smoothness, 
throwing out many witty things, the which will I not now 
repeat, since were they so like in kind to those I found 
within the printed pages of his writings. Of this hook 
have I one copy, well-worn from many readings. And 
would I say now that am I ill-pleased with the portrait of 
its great writer which it doth contain, though did Ben 
Jonson, in his introduction, hold it up to praise. Hath it 
not one trace of that attractive look, which had in life my 
poet^s face. In truth might they as well have named that 
portrait as the likeness of the monkey, for which did Jes- 
sica exchange old Shylock^s much loved jewel. While was 
my gentle host in this his genial way giving to me enter- 
tainment, was there knock upon the door; and being so 
bidden came in a small man of shabby dress, and with a 
face that bespoke much of worriment. Bowed he in cring- 
ing way to the poet, and then said : 

^‘^Do I trust, good Master Shakespeare, that thou wilt 
not bear hard upon my brother James, who must pay to 
thee an hundred and twenty guineas, fourteen shillings 
and sixpence, being the monies thou didst loan to him 
with the interest thereon. Will the sum be due three days 
from now. And will James be much put out to raise the 
same. In truth may he not have it at the time appointed. 
Have I not the sum myself, else would he get it from me, 
so that thou shouldst be paid at proper time.^^ 


284 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


^^Mark me, Hollis, did Shakespeare make repl}^, ^^have 
I no wish to hear hard upon thy brother James, or yet on 
any man. Had he the money of me at his own request, 
and did he offer freely to pay therefore fair and lawful 
interest. Have I already promised elsewhere this sum 
which is due me on the third day from now.” 

Seemed Hollis to show some disappointment that his 
brother's creditor were in small way minded to humor him 
in this matter. After had he hesitated, no doubt in hope 
that would he offered to his brother in this matter some 
delay, he said that they would see what they might do 
toward the getting of the sum in time. When had the 
man withdrawn himself, did my host, with an odd smile 
and shrug of shoulder, say : 

^^Hath brother Jones, and he as well, the wish upon 
myself to now impose. Read I the man like to a book. 
Besides, must I put money in my purse.” 

Years thereafter was I minded of these words, when 
I read the tragedy of Othello, in which I found lago’s 
small discourse upon the text : “Put money in thy purse.” 
How did I say to my host that I should the same night at 
the Globe Theatre have pleasure of seeing one of his 
tragedies enacted. Whereat stole there a cloud across his 
brow, and he spoke thus : 

“It is like thou wilt he pleased with Burhridge, as struts 
he cross the stage and rants. Would he but study out my 
lines the half as well as studies he his struts, would I 
have cause to blush the less for verse set down to me. 
Will there as well he needless noise and much of pother. 
Yet wilt thou like it, if for no other cause than that ’tis 
new to thee.” 

Seemed the poet then in thoughtful mood; and since 


WILL SHAKESPEARE. 


285 


were I like now to be no fit companion for him, I took 
my leave after thanking him for that he had entertained 
me in so choice a way. Said I as well that I would set out 
for Wiltshire upon the morrow. Did he now shake me 
gently by the hand, and say he wished me speedy posses- 
sion of my estates, by the means of which might I set up 
as country gentleman. 

Passed I the time till sundown about the streets. Then 
went I to my inn, where had I supper and tarried till were 
it past the hour of seven. hTow set I out, and found there 
were full many persons in the street, albeit was the air 
most chill and raw, since in truth were the month of 
March not yet half gone. Bore some torches, which gave 
lights that did much dicker, while were there others with 
lanterns. And moved all most briskly by reason of the 
cold. Came I soon unto the Globe Theatre, which I then 
thought were lighted without much more than any shop. 
When had I paid for entrance, I found many people seated 
below the stage, which looked to me most broad and deep. 
As well did I perceive persons seated above my head in 
galleries. Came there a man who touched me on the 
shoulder, and said that by payment of a few shillings 
might I have seat upon the stage. Did I pay to him the 
price he named, and then led he the way up a few steps 
and were I upon the boards which would soon the actors 
tread. Was I given a small stool to sit upon; and did the 
man as well request of me that in the great excitement of 
the play I should not move me too far forward. Now 
people fiocked in one large stream into the place. Were 
there those who wore fine apparel, and others of most 
shabby look. Saw I many women who bore themselves in 
bold way, albeit were some of them quite fair. And were 


286 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


it most plain that they had come there alone, not so much 
to see the play, as to attract notice of such men as held 
loose hands upon their purse strings. In the galleries sat 
some scores of ladies, of whom a number were not minded 
to have it known to the others who they Avere, since wore 
they masks upon their faces. Came there others on the 
stage who had, as w^ell as I, paid for the right to there 
sit. Did I hear the hum of many voices, some low and 
others loud. And was there upon the air the savor of 
many breaths; and in this I fancied that my nose could 
note both the smell of spirits and of garlic. Soon the 
assembled people began to wear expectant faces. And 
many of them did make manifest their great impatience 
by the stamping of their feet, and by low whistles. Were 
there some wags present, who uttered many silly things, 
and now and then a shred of real wit, to the great Joy of 
their own selves and of some about them, who oft at their 
words would yield to laughter. At length came there 
o’er the place a hush, and the play began. 

Seemed it to me that ’twould have been well to hang 
up some rough painting as a background for the actors. 
But instead was there at each new scene shown a board, 
on the which was writ the name of the place whereat was 
it supposed to be enacted. Came in Burbridge for much 
applause, as did he strut and rant in character of Eichard 
Third. Yet spoke he not in exact way the words as I, 
years thereafter found them in my book of Shakespeare’s 
writings. And as well the other players seemed to speak 
in careless fashion, not giving to the lines that smooth 
flow and rhythm which have these in the book. Likewise 
uttered they not one half the words that I found written 
for their parts. Did not my poet appear that night in 


WILL SHAKESPEARE. 


287 


this his tragedy. Caught I glimpse of him twice, as stood 
he at one side within a passage-way and looked out upon 
the stage. The first time was while Bnrhridge with his 
struts was ranting through some lines and robbing them 
of much of the smoothness with which had they been 
written. Then did I note on Shakespeare’s face a most 
weary look. The other time when I saw him was he with 
his back turned towards this same man Burbridge, who 
waited without for his time to return upon the stage. Yet 
was not this actor now alone, for had gone in to speak 
with him a fresh-faced, fine-looking woman, who seemed 
to much admire him, while did he smile upon her with 
look of great conceit. And while the pair talked the poet 
no doubt o’erheard what they said; and I noted then that 
there came an odd smile upon his face, and did he us well 
in slight way shrug his shoulder. Had this same woman 
who spoke with Burbridge a seat, with her maid, nigh to 
where I watched the play. And when went her actor 
again upon the stage, came she back to her maid to whom 
she said in a loud whisper, which could I not help but 
overhear : 

‘Ts it in truth delightful! For hath the dear Master 
Burbridge given promise to come unto my house after the 
play. Will he be in character of Richard Third, and as 
such will sup with me. Shall we leave early, Jane, that 
we may prepare for him a supper which shall do honor to 
so great an actor. Would it be well for us to go so soon 
as we are like to find without the door Tom waiting with 
lantern to light us home.” 

Hid some who sat upon the stage, and as well others out 
upon the floor, show lack of courtesy toward those lesser 
actors, who took part of servants, and of soldiers in the 


288 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


armies of both Eichmond and unhappy Eichard. At these 
were thrown many jibes by the unfeeling people; and 
might the poor fellows make no reply by either word or 
fist. Some little while before the tragedy had come to 
end, did the woman who admired Burbridge, with her 
maid, leave no doubt that they might prepare for the 
actor the supper to which had he been bidden. When 
came the final struggle upon Bosworth Field, I saw one 
finely dressed but foppish youth, who had sat upon a stool 
not far from me, reach out his foot and kick two of Eich- 
ard’s soldiers, who had fell nigh to him in pretended 
death. When was the play at end, tarried I some little 
while in hope that I might have glimpse of Shakespeare 
once again; yet saw I naught of him. Were the theatre 
well nigh empty of its throng, when joined I the strag- 
gling stream that passed out into the street. Did it now 
look dark and gloomy without, for all the torches and the 
lanterns among the crowd. And heard I many voices, 
and as well the rattle of coach wheels. When had I gone 
some distance, as I supposed in direction of my inn, I per- 
ceived that I had lost the way. Came I then upon a most 
dark and filthy street, and as I turned away from this, 
ran there at me of a sudden a tall villain, who seemed to 
raise his arm, as if to strike me with something which he 
grasped. Drew I my sword in quick way, and gave to him 
a thrust upon the arm above the elbow. With cry of pain 
did he drop what found I to be a bludgeon; and then he 
made off in the darkness, no doubt with much fear lest he 
might again feel my sharp blade. 

Soon came I into a street where were houses of a sort 
which bespoke the truth that were their tenants persons 
of some substance. Of one of these I noted that there 


WILL SHAKESPEARE, 


289 


was much light within; and as well I heard loud peals 
of laughter. Did this seean to come from some woman, 
and was its heartiness so pleasing unto me that I paused 
to listen further to the same. Would the laughter cease 
for a moment, and then break forth again with strength 
renewed. Was I of belief that the woman did now listen 
to some much amusing tale, the which was being told to 
her by one apt in the relation of such. Heard I now foot- 
steps, and looking round I saw one coming down the 
street, whose way of motion seemed to me familiar. Then 
as drew the person nigh I perceived no less a man than 
Burbridge himself, wrapped in a long cloak, beneath 
which he no doubt wore yet his costume of the Third 
Richard. Came now to me the thought that this might 
be the house of she who had hidden him to sup with her. 
Since were I minded to see him strut into the place, drew 
I back and stood behind a tree. Passed Burbridge to the 
door of the yet-lighted house and loudly knocked thereat. 
Presently there came a serving-man, to ask who might be 
there. And did he put the question in a grulf voice. Made 
Burbridge this reply in haughty tone : 

‘Tellow, tell thy mistress that hath come Richard the 
Third, by her own wish; and moreover tell her that his 
Majesty hath no liking to be kept long shivering without. 

The man now closed the door, as if to take this mes- 
sage unto his mistress. And was he gone some little time, 
while did the actor on the door-step dance for warmth. 
At last was the door part way opened, and I heard this 
message spoken in a loud, firm tone : 

^^Was I bid tell thee William the Conqueror was afore 
Richard Third.’^ 

Whereat did the man slam the door in the very face of 
19 


290 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Master Burbridge; and then heard I the sound of bolts 
fastening within. Now the actor heaped in low voice 
many curses upon the head of one, whose name I caught 
not, but whom believed I to be none other than the poet 
whose grand verse had he upon the stage that night much 
ill-treated in way of utterance. As passed he up the 
street did I follow, thinking to ask him that he would 
direct me to the way which I had lost. But at the first 
corner came I upon some houses which I remembered 
passing as went I to the theatre. And so in some few 
moments more came I safely to my hostel, 


XXV. 


HEISTEY OF NAVARRE. 

Upon the morrow set I forth for Perling Manor with 
Richard Peasley, rejoicing in the use of his recovered eyes. 
Hung the head of our man Mark as rode he behind his 
master; and were I at loss to know if he now repented him 
of laying hands on certain trifles that belonged not to 
himself, or if he did regret the not having taken things 
which had chanced to lie within his easy reach. Pon- 
dered I much upon my poet as rode I along the now 
muddy road, albeit did fair young Constance Leigh more 
than once long tarry in my thoughts. When had we come 
to the journey’s end, was good Squire Peasley lost in 
greater wonder than had I afore seen him give expression 
to, at learning that his son’s eyes were well and strong 
once more. 

Passed swiftly by the next half year; and then on the 
evening of the last day but one of August cam.e there to 
me a message from Sir Francis Wynnington. Had now 
my good guardian brought about the release of Merton 
from the extortion of they who had long held it under 
guise of Law. And did this message, brought by one 
Stephen Bronson who had chanced to stop at Bidwell on 
his way to Bristol, bid me forthwith to ride to Merton, 
where would I be like to find my kinsman. Then took I 
leave of the good Squire, who is there no need to say, were 

291 


292 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


filled with much wonder. And his kind Dame seemed to 
have at heart that wish for my happiness which gave she 
expression to. Did Richard^s eyes grow dim once more, 
albeit this time only from the tears. And seemed as v^ell 
the servants sorry to have me depart from Perling. Had 
I the mind to give to Mark a pair of old shoe-buckles, 
which ^twas my fancy he had long his eyes upon. Yet 
v/hen went I to look for these, were the same gone. 

^^Mayhap Mark already has them,’^ was my thought. 
‘^And if so he, is he most truly welcome to the buckles.” 

Set I forth upon this journey in most high spirits, and 
did I upon the way make resolve to soon cross the sea to 
France and seek the hand of Constance. And in this 
matter, within my own fancy, had I now all success. 
When rode I, on the second day, through a wood some- 
where on the border of Hampshire, nigh to where the 
same doth join upon Berkshire, sprang there out from 
behind a tree a young highwayman, who made demand 
of such sum of money as I might have about me, with 
threat that he would else have my life. As did I not seem 
minded to part with either, raised he a pistol to aim at 
me. Yet ere had he done this thing, my sword was 
drawn, and knocked I from out his clumsy hand the 
weapon. Did he now strive to fly ; hut in his hurry tripped 
he and fell upon the ground. Leaped I from off the hack 
of my new horse Sam, and had the fellow at my mercy. 
As did he beg of me to spare him, was I minded how the 
olden Knight was wont to send his vanquished ones about, 
breathing loud the praises of the mistress of his heart. 
And came the odd thought that if I should send this one 
forth, in payment for his life, to tell the world of the 
great charms of Constance, would I have need to give to 


HENRY OF NAVARRE. 


293 


him as well my purse for sustenance upon the way. When 
put I some questions to the rogue I found that this were 
his first attempt at robbery, to the which did he plead 
that he’ were in truth by hunger driven. When had he 
made promise to amend his ways, I gave to him one guinea 
in exchange for his pistol, and set him free. Was this 
pistol a wretched weapon, that would have been as like to 
have burst in his own hands, as to have sent at myself 
its bullet. I cast the thing into the first broad stream it 
was my chance to cross. 

Filled was my heart with gladness when I at length 
rode up the avenue of trees, at end of which stood dear 
old Merton Hall. And there awaited me Sir Francis, who 
with three of our old servants that did I well remember, 
wished me much joy in having thus come into mine own. 
Did he explain in weary detail the workings of the Law, 
by the which had I been cheated. As well did he show 
how at last was brought this injustice unto an end. Gave 
I to my guardian most hearty thanks for all he had done 
for me. And was I as well in some few days able to make 
return of all those sums for which had I so long been in- 
debted to him, since were now paid in to me by tenants, 
of whom some had I known from childhood, the rents for 
the quarter. From Sir Francis did I learn that his Walter 
was to wed Maud de Wycherly about the time of Christ- 
mas, and that I would no doubt be bidden to the wedding- 
feast at Gorley Castle. When asked I of him what had 
become of Master Hackett Sir Francis told me that my 
old friend had been named the heir of an aged kinsman 
of substance, with whom he now dwelt in Middlesex. And 
was I in truth rejoiced at the good fortune of one with 
whom had I passed so many pleasant hours in study. 


294 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Went I into Merton church-yard, and when had I stood 
for a time beside my dear sire’s grave, I perceived another 
tombstone upon which was cut the name of Parson Hay- 
den, who was here set down as one of shining virtues. 
Was now Merton’s Parson a man of middle age by name 
of Porter. And were he more reverend in look and in his 
life than the one who held the post before him. Yet was 
Master Porter wont to look well unto his tithes, the which 
in truth was it no more than right he should do. Had I 
hearty welcome from my old neighbors. Found I Sir 
Harry Bullard and his wife in good health; and seemed 
good Lady Clayton to have grown younger rather than 
older. 

When had Sir Francis returned to Bidwell, did I in 
speedy fashion strive to set affairs at rights, with view to 
leaving for a while my estates of Merton, since was I not 
minded to put off for one needless hour my journey into 
Picardy. And with thought that I might he gone some 
little time, I asked Parson Porter to act for me while I 
were absent. Were made out the Law papers, by the 
which was he given power to do this ; and did I sign these 
in presence of young Squire Harper, the son of him who 
had come to Merton in my behalf soon after the death of 
my father. And, as it thereafter came about, was this 
same step a wise one. 

Upon the hack of Sam, who proved himself nigh to as 
fleet of foot as might I have wished, rode I to Dover. 
Then was I forced to tarry two whole days on board the 
staunch craft Nancy, ere came the winds that might take 
us cross the narrow sea to France. After I had landed at 
Boulogne, and had once more satisfied the King’s officers 
that I had come into their country for no purposes of 


HENRY OF NAVARRE. 


295 


wrong, went I to an inn. Then sent I for a tailor, who 
with his man came to me, bringing divers suits of choice 
apparel. From these I chose one that was to my liking, 
and which the man assured me were of the finest texture 
and the newest fashion. Bought I as well a hat, and fine 
shoes, together with some shirts of a new pattern I had 
never seen before. And did I likewise make purchase of 
a neat bag for the holding of apparel, that might be 
strapped on behind my saddle. Would I myself have 
fully been content to wear naught save that I had brought 
from Perling; yet deemed I it wise to make myself more 
spruce, in hope of finding favor in the eyes of Count de 
Brecy. Placing the new garments with much of care 
within the bag, did I fasten this upon Sam^s back. Then 
mounting, I began my journey on the pleasant road which 
had I traveled some three years gone by. My heart beat 
with more than wonted vigor, as rode I beneath the hill 
where stood the stone chateau of the de Brecys. Were it 
past the sundown when came I to the old Ship Inn, where 
was I given welcome by a new host, one who loved much 
to talk. While sat I at my supper, did he ask of me if 
I had noted, as I came along, the stone chateau high up 
above the road. 

did,” said I in eager tone. ^Tis there the Count de 
Brecy dwells with his — sister.” 

^‘E'ay,” he said, in manner of one who takes much of 
pride in his own knowledge. ^‘Hath his sister. Milady 
Leigh, been dead these six months. But doth her most 
fair daughter dwell there still. Yet was it not of her I 
had wish to speak, when I asked your worship if he had 
perceived the stone chateau. It was my desire to have 
thee know that, just two months gone by, his Majesty, 


296 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


the great Henry, did pause there for two days. And came 
many of his train to my house to the emptying of my 
larder, and the great lowering of my wine-casks.” 

Did I pay little heed unto his long account of what had 
said and done the King’s followers at his hostel; and was 
I glad to take refuge from his busy tongue in my quiet 
chamber. Two hours past the noon of the next day I 
arrayed myself with much of care in my new apparel, 
and set out for the chateau. As I drew at length nigh to 
the same did I perceive the Count de Brecy seated on the 
porch, and looking down in absent way upon the ground. 
Was I within some yards of him ere he looked up and saw 
me. Then he said in tone of coldness: 

‘^So, So, Sir Walter, thou art here again with thy pupil 
to give him benefit of change of air ?” 

When learned he that I had no pupil now, since had I 
at last gained possession of my estates of Merton, did, he 
wish me joy of my good fortune. And thought I from 
his manner that he now had for me some slight regard. 
When I asked of him how his niece bore the loss of her 
loved mother, showed he some small annoyance, and said 
that she no doubt grieved much for her parent’s death. 
And now heard I the voice of Constance calling forth my 
name. I turned and beheld her, a woman now, albeit had 
she reached but sixteen years. Looked she most winsome 
in her black; and was I much charmed by the pleasant 
light which shone within her e3^es, and the soft glow 
which now came upon her cream-like cheeks. Was Count 
de Brecy ill-pleased no doubt that I were given such wel- 
come by his niece, and did he arise and walk away. Con- 
stance now led the way into the large hall, where sat we 


HENRY OF NAVARRE. 


297 


down. Then told she in tearful way of the last days of her 
departed mother. For the dear maid in this her loss 
showed I much of S3mipathy. Then learned I that she 
were now mistress there in her mothers stead; and came 
to me the thought that for this same reason Count de 
Brecy would he loathe to give up his niece. When asked 
she me touching my own affairs^, and I told her that I had 
come into mine own, did she clap her hands and give 
expression to much pleasure. Next I told her I had 
learned by chance that so great a man as King Henry the 
Fourth had made visit there. Then blushed she in slight 
manner and said: 

‘Hs the King in truth a most grand gentleman.” And 
now turning quickly her talk unto another matter, went 
she on: ^^Did there tarry, not so long while ago, at the 
Ship Inn for nigh to a month one who knows thee, and 
yet hath for thyself a strange and deep hatred.” 

^‘Who hath hatred for me !” I said. ^^Know I of not one 
who would he like to so regard me — ^unless it he Paul ” 

^Tn truth was it none other than Paul de Wycherly. 
And were he as well my suitor, albeit was I unkind 
enough to laugh at the soft things he said to me. Vowed 
I as well that he were not in earnest. When would he 
speak most ill and unkind things of thee, and I would 
make my defence of Sir Walter, would he grind well hi^ 
teeth. Did he say once that he had made himself a 
master of the fencing art, and that would he one day 
show thee some tricks with swords. So let me warn thee 
to look out for this same Master de Wycherly.” 

Did I assure Constance that I had little to fear from 
Paul, since had I perceived by his handling of the foil 


298 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


that he would never be more than small master of the 
sword. And now of a sudden came there running into 
the hall, and all out of breath, a serving-man who in way 
of great excitement, called out: 

^^Has the master bidden me to say to all that the King 
is coming!’^ 

Showed Constance some surprise to hear this. Then 
went she forth upon the porch, telling me to follow that 
I might aid her to do honor to the King. When I were 
come without the door I beheld the great Henry with his 
suite of nigh to a dozen courtiers, and some two score 
men-at-arms, riding slowly toward the chateau. Did the 
brightnesss of their attire and the glitter of the helmets, 
seem to catch the eye of Constance, which now shone with 
pleasure at the sight. When came they nearer was I 
struck by the majestic way in which sat the King upon 
his horse. And looked I eagerly at each of his courtiers 
to see if there were among these the Duke of Sully, whose 
wise counsels had proved of so great avail unto his sov- 
ereign; yet saw I no one who to my eye would pass for 
that great man. Stood the Count de Brecy ready to wel- 
come his royal master so soon as might he alight. And 
when had the King set foot upon the ground, and was 
permitting his hand to be kissed by the kneeling Count, 
had I a good look at this famed person. Though nigh to 
fifty years of age, he yet bore himself like to a young 
man. Was there a martial look about his frank and 
handsome face, and did he carry high his head. Noted 
I the look of sound sense, rather than of great wisdom, on 
his brow. And in truth had he oft shown his sense by 
leaving his affairs to the wisdom of the Duke of Sully. 


HENRY OF NAVARRE. 


299 


Was there about his eyes the look of one who hath much 
love of life and of its pleasures. Yet did I fancy that I 
saw as well the traces of his courage, and his love of jus- 
tice. And in truth was he, as Will Shakespeare put it in 
his Lear, ‘‘every inch a King.’’ 


300 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


XXVI. 

A GLAD SUKPKISE. 

As came the King in stately way up the steps, did his 
face light np vrith admiration at the sight of fair Con- 
stance, who made to him a lo:: courtesy. Then he in 
easy way placed hand to his heart, and with a kiss upon 
his finger-tips, waved he these toward her with a graceful 
motion, and a most gallant glance. When Henry per- 
ceived me a slight shadow crept across his brow. Then he 
said, looking at the maid : 

‘^Am I most pleased, fair Constance, to behold thee 
once again, grown already lovelier than when I admired 
thee but two months gone by. Kow who may be this 
young gentleman, who hath indeed an English look ?” 

Then did Constance present me to the King, telling 
him my name, and saying that we had been friends sinee 
she were but five years old. Though made I to the monarch 
a low bow, yet seemed he not of mind to take more than 
slight notice of m3^self. Gave me the Count de Brecy a 
sour look from out the corners of his eyes, as if Twere 
his wish that I should in speedy manner get me gone. 
Had I for my part no reason tc remain the guest of one 
to whom I were not welcome, save that it was hard to be 
so soon banished from the presence of Constance. Now 
passed the King, with his host and some of his courtiers, 
inside the door. And as Constance was about to follow, 


A GLAD SURPRISE, 


301 


I begged of her in a few hurried words that she would 
find the time to talk with me a little in an arbor to right 
of the chateau the same even just after moon rise, which 
would be at about the hour of ten. After a moment’s 
thought she replied: 

‘^Too bad it is my uncle is so rude to my old friend. 
And for that same reason will I to-night, if it be within 
my power, meet thee at the arbor when hath the moon 
arisen.” 

Whereat gave she to myself a pleasant smile, and 
quickly went inside. Was I happy in her promise, assur- 
ing myself that would naught prevent her coming to me. 
And did I already in my fancy behold her with me in the 
moon’s soft light. Yet could I not at once send myself 
away, but hovered round the place in hope that I might 
catch still another glimpse of her. So presently, under 
pretence of gazing at certain of the King’s men-at-arms 
who lounged about, went I and stood nigh to a window, 
and glanced therein. Then did I perceive the brown, 
curling locks of Constance, whose head seemed to be 
turned from me. And I heard a voice, which I recalled 
as that of the great King himself. Though were the 
tones low, yet came to my ear most plainly every word 
which he now did utter. Said he this : 

^^Am I, sweet Constance, now o’er joyed to catch thee 
thus alone, and to tell thee how passing fair thou art. 
But a moment since, ere that sweet blush o’erspread thy 
cheeks, did their pure whiteness recall unto my mind the 
lilies of my throne. Would I had freedom now to ask of 
thee to sit by my side, where couldst thou match them 
with thy fairness! Curses on the head of him or her 
who shall come hither to interrupt us! Yet will some 


302 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


one surely do this same thing. I have it! Will there he 
a moon to-night^, at about the hour of ten. When is it 
risen to bathe earth in its mild light, wrap around thy 
shoulders a soft cloak, and come thou out upon the porch 
where shall I, thy King, await thee, my queen, in all im- 
patience. Then shall we walk, not in the broad light, 
but in the pleasant shadows of the trees. One kiss, sweet 
Constance, to show me that thou mak^st promise to come 
unto me as have I begged of thee to do 1^^ 

Had there now from the window disappeared the brown 
locks; and though I did listen with intent ears, heard I 
not one further sound. Then with anger at the King, 
and with sickening dread lest should Constance yield 
unto this regal tempter, went I slowly back to the inn. 
There found I some of the courtiers and the men-at- 
arms, among whom was our host passing with joyful look 
and many words, asking what would their worships be 
pleased to drink or eat. Paid I no heed to the many 
jests and strange, soft oaths, which were now uttered by 
the King’s people. Going to my chamber, I strove to 
hope that would Constance prove true unto the promise 
which had she made me. Then did I reflect that the 
Count de Brecy surely had perceived the true reason of 
the King’s coming to his chateau this second time within 
a two months. And I felt sure that would this man 
accept favors of his sovereign in exchange for his own 
niece. Was I now the more angry at this Count than was 
I at the King, who was minded to stand betwixt me and 
my long cherished hope. Yet thought I, wavering back 
and forth from glad hopes to despairing fears, that it 
rested all with Constance. And so I waited in my cham- 
ber till long past the coming of the darkness. Were I 


A GLAD SURPRISE. 


303 


not minded to have supper, since was there in me no 
hunger. Bnt was my throat much parched with thirst, 
and drank I one long draught of cool water. 

At length I set forth from the inn, which resounded 
now with the shouts and laughter of the King’s men. 
Was there some show of brightness in the East, above 
where the moon were soon to rise, when began I in the 
darkness to ascend the hill toward the chateau. Went I 
slowly up, and stood without the arbor when the moon’s 
silver rim first showed itself above the distant woods. 
Then I looked toward the porch, and perceived I there 
the figure of a man wrapped in a cloak. Stepped I in the 
arbor door, that I might the better watch without being 
myself seen. Did the figure at the porch now move 
quickly hack and forth. Was the hearing of this one of a 
lofty kind, which gave me no room to doubt hut that it 
were the King. And was there now upon me much dread 
that I should behold a slighter figure, wrapped within a 
cloak, to come forth and meet him. Waited I some mo- 
ments longer, and then of a sudden did I perceive that 
Henry were not alone. By him stood some one smaller 
than himself, and in a cloak. I uttered one groan of 
agony, and with hands upon my head sank I down upon 
a bench within the arbor. Then fled the pangs from out 
my heart in most sudden way, for from close at hand 
came the soft, sweet voice of Constance, which said, albeit 
in an anxious tone: 

^Tear I, Sir Walter, thou art far from well. Have I 
sat here in silence and watched thee go on in strange 
manner.” 

And there sat the maid I loved. Placed I my hand 
upon her arm to make sure that I dreamed not. Then 


304 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


sprang I to my feet and looked back to where I had seen 
another with the King. And now did I perceive this per- 
son to he a man, who as I looked passed within the 
chateau. 

^^Constance,” said I, ^Vas I sick unto the death with 
fear that thou wouldst come not to me in this arbor, hut 
to the King yonder at the porch. I heard him beg of thee 
to meet him there at the rising of the moon.” 

‘^True, Sir Walter, he did urge me to so do, using words 
of flattery, and giving many glances of the sort that 
sometimes do fascinate. And yet ere the rising of the 
moon came I unto this arbor.” 

Thereat I seized sweet Constance in my arms, where 
lay she still, resisting not, while on her lips, and cheeks, 
and brows, and throat rained I summer storms of kisses. 
And in the brief calms which came between these same, 
I whispered in her ears how much and truly I loved her. 
And did she after I had used some urging words, assure 
me that her heart now was, and should be ever, in my 
keeping. Then did I lift her gently to her feet, and with 
my arm around her, we stood and looked to where the 
King yet walked in impatient way. Kow I told her how 
it was that I, in striving to catch glimpse of her, had 
overheard the King make his urgent plea unto her. Next 
I said: 

^‘Am I full sure thou didst not give to Henry the kiss 
for which he begged.” 

At this tossed she her head in most arch way, and then 
made reply: 

‘^Had I no chance, for scarce had he made his request 
of me when came there in two servants for directions 
from myself. Then said the King in low voice that he 


A GLAD SURPRISE. 


305 


would surely look for me, since could I not have within 
me so hard a heart as to give him the pangs of disap- 
pointment/^ 

^^And, my darling, must he have been firm in this wrong 
belief, or would he not have waited for thee yonder.” 

^^Yet, Walter, is it now more than like that he begins 
to have his doubts?” 

^^Now, sweet Constance, must I commend thee that 
thou didst come so early to the arbor. From this same 
thing, am I led to believe that thou shalt prove ever 
prompt.” 

“Be not so sure of that, dear Walter. If I had tarried 
till the moon had risen, would the King have seen me 
coming hither, and would he have been like to follow.” 

Next did I ask of her if there were one hour of the day 
more than another, when might I find her uncle in a 
humor to listen to my plea for her hand. Shook she her 
head, and with a sigh replied: 

“In this matter is he like to prove as cold and hard of 
heart at one time of the day as at another. Yet, dear 
Walter, will I wait patiently. Therein shall I show my 
love for thee. Will it he cause for wonder how I will 
wait. Yes, indeed will I wait long.” 

“Nay, precious Constance,” said I, ^fi)e not so anxious to 
oYrdo this same matter of thy waiting.” 

Fled the time most swiftly by until my love perceived 
that had Henry retired from his vigil. And did the 
moon’s height show that it were grown very late. Found 
I then that she would enter the chateau at a certain small 
door, whereof had she the key. Went I with her unto 
the same door, and there told her that I would, some three 
hours past the noon of the first day after the King’s de- 
20 


306 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


parture, go unto the Count de Brecy and demand her of 
him. Then having taken some few tender kisses, did I 
permit Constance to enter at the door. As walked I away 
with light step, I passed close to a clump of high bushes ; 
and then my ears caught sounds, which might have been 
a smothered curse. Paused I not to assure myself what 
this should truly be; but quickly went I on toward the 
Ship Inn, thinking only of my happiness. Seemed my 
feet scarce to touch the ground as I walked, so much were 
I in spirits lifted up. And when came I to the hostel, 
though were it past the midnight hour, found I nigh to 
a dozen of the King’s people yet calling for the host’s 
wine, the which did he serve with cheerful face and with 
voice hoarse from much talking. When had I gained my 
chamber, sat I for some time by the window and listened 
to the jesting and the songs of the other guests. Did I 
now hold these to be pleasant, witty fellows, whose words 
amused me much. And had I no doubt they enjoyed 
their lives greatly, as deserved they to do. Was I now in 
a most kindly humor; and had there then gone by some 
loud-braying ass, would I no doubt have named it as a 
pleasant beast, albeit of somewhat discordant voice. 

On the morrow was I awakened by the noise and bustle 
of the men-at-arms, who seemed to be in act of prepara- 
tion for the journey, which heard I one of them to say 
would be renewed forthwith. When had I broke my fast, 
heard I one call out to another that the King were coming 
along the road. Went I with the others out upon the 
wayside, and I saw Henry riding toward us, followed by 
many of his suite. When had he come opposite to the 
Ship Inn, did he draw rein and alight. Then went he 


A GLAD SURPRISE. 


307 


into the hostel, and taking seat did he permit the host 
to bring him a cup of wine. And in his wish to kiss the 
hand of his great master, the excited publican splashed 
many drops upon the royal boots. Yet was he only called 
to task for asking forgivenness in so profuse a way as to 
make himself most wearisome. When had he been assured 
by one of his officers that all of his suite had come 
together and there awaited him, the King went forth. 
And in passing out the hostel, did he chance to brush 
gainst my sleeve. Then bowing low, I craved of him his 
pardon for that I had stood by accident within his path. 
Kow seemed he to recall my face, and came there oYr his 
countenance a sour look. Made he no reply, but strode 
unto his horse and quickly mounted. Then did there of a 
sudden seem to come upon this great man a sense of what 
was right and just. For turned he his head about and 
waved to me his hand in fashion of right kingly courtesy. 
And now, as he rode away, saw I the white-plumed hero 
of Ivry. 

When were it some two hours past the noon of that 
same day, set I forth upon my mission to de Brecy. Did 
Constance meet me at the door of the chateau with most 
winsome smile, yet gave she slight shrug of shoulder when 
I asked of her in what humor she had found her uncle 
since the King’s departure. Then she said: 

^^Would I truly not be in thy shoes when thou art with 
my guardian yonder in his library.” 

^^Hath come into my mind, sweet Constance, the 
thought of swift flight, should he not be minded to listen 
to the words of reason which shall come from my lips.” 

^^Would I like, dear Walter, to prove thy constancy for 


308 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


some little while, ere we take such step. But go thou in 
to my uncle, while remain I without praying much for 
thy success.” 

Then passed I in unto the door of the same room, 
where once before had I seen the Count. When had I 
knocked, was I bidden in a sharp voice to enter, and so 
doing did I stand in the presence of him who were guard- 
ian to my Constance. Did he look up at me, first in sur- 
prise, and then with a look of some displeasure spreading 
o’er his countenance. As bowed I in respectful manner, 
he said: 

^‘How now. Sir Walter! Why dost thou in such per- 
sistent fashion come ever to where it must be full plain 
to thee thou art not welcome.” 

Then made I bold to say that I had won the heart of 
his dear niece, and had come to beg his sanction to our 
marriage. When had I paused, did he shake his head 
gravely, and say, as if to himself: 

^^Might she have chosen far more wisely than this.” 

It came then to my head to ask of him if he thought 
it better for his sister’s child that she should be bestowed 
upon the King, than to become the honored wife of a 
Knight of England. But checked I my tongue in time, 
and in the stead of that, did say : 

^^True, sir, there be many gentlemen of higher rank 
and much more of wealth than myself, who would be 
proud to marry Constance; yet have I many doubts if 
she would be happy with any of such.” 

“Yet,” he urged in a much softer manner, “dost thou 
consider that she hath barely passed her sixteenth birth- 
day ?” 

Then I quickly pointed out that though her age were 


A GLAD SURPRISE. 


309 


but sixteen, my own years were some six and twenty. 
And thus might we both, by law of average, be deemed as 
being at the age of one-and-twenty. Yet did he not seem 
minded to follow me in this reasoning. Next he asked 
of me if, in coming into my own, I had taken care to put 
my estates in thorough order. Were I forced to make 
admission that I had not tarried long at Merton, through 
my great desire to at once see Constance. Then did he 
say: 

^^Wert thou no prudent man to so neglect thy interest. 
And do I counsel thee at once to return unto thy estates, 
and be at pains to find out the condition of each field, 
and as well of every building. See what there may be 
which stands in need of some improvement; and to that 
same look thou well. Until thou hast done all this, come 
thou not to me asking for my niece.” 

“Then, sir,” exclaimed I in eager way, “when have I 
done that which thou hast pointed out, shall I look to 
have the hand of Constance ?” 

“Nay, not so fast as that. Sir Walter. Yet will I say 
that the sooner thou dost begin this matter, the sooner 
shalt thou be able to return.” 

“Mayhap in a six months, I may do this,” I urged, and 
at same moment within myself weighing if I might not as 
well have named four months, or even three. 

“Nay,” made he reply, “canst thou not attend to these 
affairs of thine in less than one full year.” 

Did I deem it wise to accept this time of banishment 
as being within bounds of reason. And then in most 
respectful way took I leave of Count de Brecy, who but 
gave to me his chill nod at parting. Was Constance 
awaiting me, with face which did bespeak the truth that 


310 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


she Tvere most anxious to know how I fared at the Count’s 
hands. When had I related to her all which was spoken 
by him, she said : 

^^Hast thou had more of kindness from my uncle than 
I looked for. And am I full sure that, when the time he 
named has swiftly fled, will he yield the boon thou dost 
ask.” 

^^Thou dost speak of the time, sweet Constance, as if 
’twere naught,” did I now say. ^^In truth have we to wait 
twelve whole months.” 

‘^And yet, dear Walter, do the whole dozen months 
make but one small year.” 

When had I taken a most tender parting of her who 
was my promised wife, I hurried back to the Ship Inn 
and give order that Sam should be quickly saddled. Then 
paid I my reckoning to the publican, who was now unto a 
gaping crowd telling o’er again of the King’s visit to his 
hostel. And set I forth with full intent to follow in all 
faithfulness the counsel of de Brecy. 


XXVII. 


TRYING YEARS. 

Have I many times heard it said that when misfortunes 
do await, hath the victim of these some mystic warning, 
such as dreams, or mayhap a strange foreboding of evil 
within his own mind. Yet hath not this ever come to pass 
with me. For now, going as I did toward a sore calamity, 
were I most cheerful in my thoughts, and oft singing 
softly to myself in praise of Constance, as rode I on the 
way. At Boulogne found I a small craft, by name the 
Lively Peggy, making ready to set sail for Dover. Did I 
bargain for a passage, and was Sam with much of trouble 
placed on board. When the wind seemed to favor him the 
master, one Curtis, brought up his anchor, and with sails 
filled steered toward the white cliffs on the North horizon. 

Scarce had the night set in, when of a sudden came 
there a wild wind from out the East, which fast grew 
stronger. For the safety of his ship did Curtis run her 
before the blast. But towards the morn was she tripped 
by a great wave and flung over upon her side. Went my 
poor Sam then into the sea, and in the darkness was he 
swept away and drowned. To right the hark upon her 
keel, were the masts quickly cut away. Did we now in 
helpless way drift before the wind; yet could the staunch 
timbers of the hull well resist the fury of the waves, and 


311 


312 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


was there no leak to add unto our dangers. . Kept on the 
storm all of the day which followed, and was the air of 
such thickness that no one might see more than small 
way from the much-washed and heavy-rolling decks. 

Upon the second morn had wind and waves subsided 
much, yet was there upon the sea a thick mist. And had 
now Curtis a look of some anxiety upon his face, since 
had he the fear of going blindly on some reef. Had the 
sailors in readiness two small boats, by the which might 
we leave the bark should she strike. Had I fastened 
already well about me certain trinkets and a lock of hair 
which had I got from Constance, and as well my purse. 
And now did the mist quickly dispel, and one of the sea- 
men called out that he perceived from certain distant 
rocks that we had drifted nigh to the Solent, which lies 
twixt the Hampshire shore and the Isle of Wight. The 
next moment did the craft strike heavily upon a hidden 
reef, and albeit floating clear of the rocks, was her prow 
smashed in. Ere she had fllled with water and gone down, 
were the two boats launched; and into these had every 
soul quickly gotten. Was I in the same boat with Curtis, 
who bore up well, though had he lost much of his small 
wealth with the Lively Peggy. Made the two boats at 
length a safe landing upon the Hampshire shore, where 
did we return our thanks to God for that he had brought 
us with life and limb through the perils of the shipwreck. 

Went Curtis and his men on foot toward Portsmouth, 
which town were well known to them all. Asked I of 
some persons, whom I saw upon the shore, where I were 
like to be able to make purchase of a horse. Were I 
directed to a small hamlet some two miles distant, and 
there did I buy from a farrier an old nag and a much- 


TRYING YEARS. 


313 


worn saddle. With these set I out for Merton. Had I 
not ridden far before came it into my mind that I should 
do well to turn aside and go by way of Winchester, where 
might I pause to look upon the famed cathedral of that 
town. So in the direction of Winchester I turned the 
nag’s head. Came I into that town the same even as it 
grew dark ; and I found lodging at the hostel of the Twin 
Dials. Here did I rest me well after the fatigues of the 
two days and nights gone by. Arose I in the morn with 
thoughts of Constance, and as I broke my fast was I most 
light of heart. At length went I toward the cathedral, 
and viewed the same from different points without. Then 
as I were about to enter at the door, did I perceive coming 
out none other than my Lady Clayton, who was with Dame 
Hurle}'-, wife of Squire Hurley of Oakley Hall, with whom 
were she then upon a visit. Was I now presented to the 
Dame, a kindly lady albeit most vain of her small hands, 
the which was she, on this pretext and on that, bringing 
to my notice. Next Lady Clayton asked of me when I 
had last heard of her little guest of years gone by. Took 
I much of pleasure in telling her that I had won the heart 
of Constance, to whom had I hope of being married in a 
year. Did Lady Clayton show much of delight at learning 
of this thing, and she asked many questions touching the 
same. At parting my Lady, and the Dame as well, wished 
me joy of my good fortune. After I had much admired 
this noble sanctuary within, and came forth into the air, 
I perceived at some small distance the Lady Clayton hav- 
ing speech with a young gentleman about whom was there 
that which seemed familiar to my eye. When had I 
looked at him the more closely, did I recall to mind Paul 
de Wycherly, than whom could this be none other. And 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


314 

was he no doubt now hearing with small pleasure of my 
success with Constance. 

Now went I to my inn of the Twin Dials and called for 
my nag and my reckoning. But had I gone little way 
when I noted that my beast trod as if one of his shoes 
had been cast. When had I alighted I found not only 
that his left hind shoe were gone, but as well that its mate 
were like soon to come off. Led I the nag unto a farrier 
who had his shop hard by; and there I saw already four 
other horses waiting to he shod. Were it like to he some 
while ere the turn of my animal should come; and so 
strolled I about, thinking that great Alfred had trod 
those ways when was the old town his capital. As chanced 
I to pass a certain tavern had I the mind to quench my 
thirst with a cup of small ale. When had I entered and 
called for this same drink, I glanced about the place, and 
perceived seated at a table Paul de Wycherly with two 
companions of nigh to his own age. Were the three now 
emptying a flask of red wine. While were his two com- 
panions in light spirits and much chattering, wore Master 
Paul upon his face a gloomy look. Then came to me the 
thought that would I now have within my heart many 
pangs, if I had just then heard from Lady Clayton that 
Paul had won the promise of Constance to become his 
wife. And were I not now minded to add to the wretch- 
edness of this young gentleman by having him perceive 
me. So when I had drank my ale did I move toward the 
door-way. Just then fell upon me the eye of Paul, and 
came there into his face a look of hatred, which gave way 
most quickly to one of disdain. And then in sneering 
fashion, called he out to me : 


TRYING TEARS. 


315 


^^How now. Sir Walter, art thou traveling with some 
pupil, to bring about improvement of his health ?” 

^^ISTay,^^ made I reply, ^^am I now intent on other busi- 
ness.” 

Whereat I stepped quickly toward the doorway. Then 
did his manner change, and coming toward me in a pleas- 
ing tone he begged of myself to tarry for a moment that I 
might make trial of his wine, and as well be made known 
unto his friends. Having no wish to seem a churl I went 
with him to his table, where took I a seat after I had 
made exchange of courteous bows with the two young 
gentlemen, whom he named as Master de Skeyton, son of 
Sir Ealph de Skeyton of Curling Manor, and Master Fitz- 
Owen, son of Squire Fitz-Owen of Tarnley Hall. Was de 
Skeyton of slender build but of fine features, albeit was 
his skin sallow and covered much with pimples. Fitz- 
Owen was stout with full face and clear red cheeks, which 
gave to him almost the appearance of a girl. While noted 
I these things Paul slowly filled his own glass from the 
flask. Then of a sudden did he with angry look, and to 
my astonishment as well as that of his two friends, dash 
into my face the v/ine. How sprang I to my feet ; but as 
I did this was I able to hold my wrath in subjection, by 
reason of the thought that Paul were in truth maddened 
by the knowledge of my having won the prize he had 
longed and striven for. So were I minded to bear with 
him in this matter, albeit were his insult a most grievous 
one. And as I wiped off from my face the wine drops, I 
said with as much of calmness as could I command : 

^Thine honored sire, Paul, ne^er taught to thee such 
courtesy as this.” 


316 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Would I have then left the place had not Paul said to 
his friends, while pointing linger at me in scornful way : 

^^And yet that coward was once called a good fencer — 
with the foils. ^Tis plain he hath not courage of the kind 
that prompts a man to draw his sword. See in what 
craven fashion he hath swallowed my affront, demanding 
therefore no manner of satisfaction.^^ 

Did I now perceive that de Skeyton and Fitz-Owen were 
both looking coldly at me, thinking no doubt that I had 
refrained from throwing down my gage to the hot-headed 
youth through fear. And Fitz-Owen said to me: 

‘^Flath our friend offered thee insult, which for thine 
own honor Hwould be well for thee not to brook.^^ 

And now came into my mind the thought that it would 
be no hard task for me to disarm the fiery Paul, and that 
after so doing might I express myself as full content with 
such satisfaction for the insult. So, did I make to Fitz- 
Owen this reply : 

I now minded to go with Paul to some convenient 
place, and there show to him that I am no coward, and as 
well that he hath vaunted far too high his own knowledge 
of the sword.^^ 

Did Paul say that it gave to him much of joy to accept 
of this my offer; and had his two friends the wish to go 
and see fair play. Would Fitz-Owen guide us to a certain 
place, where .might we have out our affair without being 
o’errun by throngs of gaping idlers. And led he the v/ay, 
followed closely by Paul; while came I behind with de 
Skeyton, who told me in a merry tone of an affair which 
had he the year before with one who fasely charged him 
with unfairness in a throw of dice, and whom did he spare 


TRYING YEARS. 


317 


with merely a thrust in the right arm. Then he said, 
watching me from out the corners of his eyes, that Paul 
had in truth grown most skilful with his sword. 

At length came we upon an ancient and deserted build- 
ing, beyond which was a garden shut in by a much totter- 
ing wall. Through a ruined gateway we passed into the 
garden, where were the weeds thick and high. Yet found 
we a place, of breadth sufficient for our needs, that was 
not overgrown. When had we stripped us of our coats and 
hats, did Paul and myself draw our swords and try these 
well. Then faced we each other; and I did note upon his 
countenance a determined look, as if had he full resolved 
to have my life. Yet had I in my heart no wish to harm 
this rival who so much hated me. 

Scarce had we crossed our swords, when Paul beset me 
with much of fury, lunging at me in such reskless fashion 
that I might have had him at my mercy more than once. 
Did I in easy way ward off his thrusts, watching mean- 
while for some chance to disarm him in quick manner. 
Tried he some new tricks which availed him naught. Yet 
I made one sad error in that I misjudged a certain move 
he had in mind. Thinking that it was his purpose to 
make at me one fierce, straight lunge, did I step nimbly 
to my right, whereat moved he as quickly to his left. And 
though passed his sword through my shirt, grazing the 
flesh upon my right side, did he have the sore mischance 
to run full upon my own blade. Though pulled I quickly 
back the weapon, I perceived by the spurt of blood which 
came from out his wound that was this in truth a grievous 
one. Did he reel forward, and would have fallen to the 
earth had I not seized him with both arms, having now 


318 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


thrown aside my sword. Conscious as I was that I had 
not from the first been minded to spill one drop of yonng 
de Wycherly’s mad blood, felt I pity for him rather than 
pangs of self reproach, as I looked upon his now pallid 
face. Did I place him gently upon the ground, where lay 
he breathing heavily, as if in great pain from his wound. 
Then with a strip, torn quickly from my shirt where had 
his sword pierced the same, strove I to stanch the flow 
of blood. In this had I some aid from de Skeyton, whose 
hand trembled much. Had already Fitz-Owen ran off, 
saying that he would fetch a surgeon who dwelt hard by. 
Were Paul’s eyes rolled upward, and was it more than 
like he knew not what person now bent o’er him. Soon 
did the look of great pain, which had I noted upon his 
countenance, give place to one more peaceful. Then of a 
sudden he seemed to lose all sense, though did he gasp 
in heavy way. And now came Fitz-Owen with his sur- 
geon, a tall dark young man, who soon declared that 
Paul’s life could not be saved. Then having received his 
fee, did the surgeon calmly pocket this and walk away. 
How I perceived that Paul’s tw’o friends were both gazing 
at me in reproachful manner. For mayhap were the twain 
fully of belief that I, having vantage of a greater skill in 
the handling of the sword, had given to their friend the 
thrust with full intent to lay him dead. When some 
little time thereafter we saw that had Paul gone to his 
last account, I said to them that it were his mishap to run 
upon my sword, and that had I no design of doing to him 
harm. Then they looked at each other in doubtful way, 
and Fitz-Owen said to me : 

**Of truth did he offer unto thee grave insult, and if 
thou didst, not by accident hut with full intent, give to 


TRYING YEARS. 


319 


him the wound of which he died, could I lay to thy door 
small blame. Will we look out for our poor friend^s body, 
and will send information of this sad affair unto his 
family. And is it my counsel to thee to get hence in 
speedy way, and to dwell in much seclusion for at least a 
six-months.” 

^^K^ay,” made I reply, ^Vill I go to the first magistrate, 
and unto him make full explanations of this matter. If 
thou canst direct me to such an one, shall I do this thing 
now.” 

^^Then, Sir Walter, if thou wilt be so unwise, thou hast 
hut to go to the large manor-house on the hill yonder to 
the left, and ask for Squire Howlet. Will he listen to thee 
fully, albeit is he sometimes a right harsh magistrate.” 

When had I thanked Fitz-Owen for his guidance, did I 
pick up my sword, while again looking with pity upon the 
hapless Paul, who had doomed himself to this his early 
death, albeit were my hand a chance instrument in bring- 
ing this same to pass. Then walked I quickly toward the 
manor to which had I been directed, and having come 
there, said I to the servant who answered at my knock 
that I would see Squire Howlet upon pressing business. 
Was I shown into the justice-room, where was the Squire 
scolding in harsh tones a poor poacher, whom did he soon 
dismiss with a warning that upon the next offence would 
he not come off thus lightly. Was this magistrate a short, 
pompous man of middle age, yet did I note somewhat of 
kindness in his look. Listened he in attentive way, while 
I gave to him a full and true account of how I had by ill- 
chance sent a sword thrust which had deprived another of 
his life. When had I come to end of this, the Squire said : 

^‘You said that this young gentleman who met death 


320 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


at your hands — ^by accident — was one Paul de Wycherly. 
Surely he is not the son of the Baron de Wycherly of 
Gorley Castled 

^^Sir/^ made I reply, ^Vas it none other than the son of 
this same Baron de Wycherly who stumbled gainst my 
sword.” 

Whereat the face of Squire Howlet became most grave, 
and when had he seemed to weigh the matter for some 
momnts, he said: 

“Do I hope that when it is your turn to stand trial, you 
wilt be able to make this thing plain; yet until such time 
shall come, will it be my duty to commit you to the jail of 
Winchester.” 

Though had I not looked for this thing, made I now no 
protest, hut put upon the matter a good face. Did the 
magistrate now summon a certain strong-built constable, 
to whom he delivered me by nod and a motion of the hand 
as well. Then he quickly wrote out a paper, by virtue of 
the which was I to be placed in Winchester jail. Having 
received this paper, the constable took me gently by the 
arm and led me forth from the manor-house. When had I 
assured him that I would go whither he desired in willing 
and quiet way, did he free my arm, although still walking 
closely by my side. As we went on descanted he upon the 
freshness of the air, and as well on the beauty of the 
famed cathedral of his town. Did some idlers, and as well 
a score of street children, perceive that I were now a 
prisoner, and followed they us in a wondering and a strag- 
gling group. 

When were we come unto the jail was entrance given us 
by a turnkey, and was I taken straightway into the pres- 
ence of the master of the place, who received the paper, 


TRYING YEARS. 


321 


and then took my sword. This jailor, a stern, rough- 
looking man of middle age, Noah Cramp by name, ever 
treated me with kindness, albeit was it said he were severe 
to such prisoners as gave to him aught of trouble. Did 
he keep me apart from the others, and in a neat cell, with 
a long passage-way to walk in. And did I soon grow used 
to the solitude, while in the same had I much of chance 
for thought, and for weighing well those impressions 
formed in my early days, and the which yet lingered in 
my recollections. 

Had I nigh to eight years of this life in Winchester 
jail. And did I find that same time to he of much use to 
me in the writing of this history, since have I here set 
down many things which I had called up and well weighed 
while under lock and key, and which do I much doubt if 
I would else have been able to recall with clearness at this 
late day. Besides the silent turnkey who brought me food 
and drink, and the jailor Cramp who had of me many 
sums to be expended in sweets and other presents for his 
children, saw I none save my faithful friend, good Master 
Porter. Did Merton’s Parson come to me many times, 
bringing me from my rents such monies as stood I in need 
of, and as well receiving of me counsel at to his faithful 
endeavors to bring about my release. And yet in all those 
trying years did I not once give way unto despair, since 
kept I ever before me the firm hope of having, within 
some few days more, my freedom restored to me. 

Came there at least once in every year a letter from 
true Constance, in each of which did she write in cheering 
and loving way, and as well reminded me of how she had 
said that she would long wait for me. And wrote I to 
herself epistles, the which did I have sent to her by mes- 
21 


322 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


sengers. Brought Jailor Cramp to me from time to time 
such books as he chanced to lay hands upon. And these 
did I pour over with much of pleasure. Of one book 
which he placed within my hands, he said that it were in 
a foreign tongue, which one of my learning might hope to 
understand. Was this same hook in the Spanish language, 
and told of the adventures of a certain Don Quixote. Did 
I read this o’er and o’er with much of laughter, albeit 
having still within my heart an admiration for the hon- 
esty of purpose which marked the brave old crack-brained 
Knight. Many an hour, that else might have been most 
weary, was to me made pleasant by that, same book, writ 
by Cervantes. And did I value this next to the letters of 
Constance, which were well nigh worn out from much 
reading and as well caressing. With these kept I her lock 
of hair and the trinkets which had I saved from out the 
shipwreck. 

The reason for my long stay in the Jail of Winchester 
was the stubborn mind of the Baron de Wycherly. Did 
he ever insist with much of heat that I had taken wrong 
advantage of my greater skill to slay with my sword his 
son Paul, when might I as well have given him some slight 
wound, or else have disarmed him. And could no one 
venture to make hint that the thrust was one of unlucky 
chance, without rousing the Baron’s wrath. Had he the 
interest to have held over me an indictment for the killing 
of Paul, which I learned had been brought by persons who 
had wish to gain his favor. Would Sir Francis Wynning- 
ton no doubt have striven in behalf of his imprisoned 
kinsman, but that this good friend of mine were carried 
off by a fever when had I been not more than four months 
within the Jail. Mourned I in truth when was I told of his 


TRYING TEARS. 


323 


death. Yet was not the half of this my sorrow due to 
knowledge that I had lost one whose aid might have 
availed me much. Shall I ne^er forget this faithful guard- 
ian, nor the many acts of kindness which he did me. Was 
his son and heir knighted by King James soon after the 
new King came upon the throne; and had he married his 
wife, the Lady Maud, some few weeks before his sirens 
death. Had I been brought to trial would I most surely 
have been named innocent of the crime for which had I 
been indicted. Went Master Porter to London many 
times and paid large fees from out my rents unto certain 
learned men of Law to bestir themselves in my behalf. 
Yet found these same persons all channels blocked by the 
hand of de Wycherly, who stood high in the favor of King 
James. Did good Squire Peasley and my old pupil Dick 
go to Sir Walter of Surrey, and beg of him and as well 
of his wife to use their interest with the Baron in my 
behalf. But they only made excuses, telling my friends 
that their words were like to hurt rather than to help my 
hopes of release. Passed away the good Queen Bess in the 
second year of my captivity, and ere I had resolved to 
make through Porter an appeal to her. 

In the month of July, of the year Sixteen Hundred and 
Mne, died the Baron de Wycherly of an apoplexy. And 
within a week thereafter came Parson Porter to tell me 
that the new Baron, who had once been my friend Henry, 
so far from pursuing his sire’s unreasoning revenge 
against myself, would use his interest to have my liberty 
restored to me. Looked I now upon myself as already a 
free man, and did I begin to lay plans for my going to 
claim Constance. And not long thereafter came there to 
me one morn with Porter a certain King’s Counsel, by 


324 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


name of Davids. Was he a man of smooth tongue, and 
much given to the showing of his fine white teeth. Did he 
say that the indictment gainst myself would he disposed of 
so soon as had I performed for my King a certain service. 
For this same was I fitted in peculiar way by reason of 
my knowledge of the Spanish tongue. Had come to Eng- 
land a vague rumor that was there hatching in or about 
Madrid a plot, mongst some Catholics of most bigot sort, 
and aiming gainst the life of James, who had already by 
God in his wisdom been spared from the gunpowder of 
Guy Fawkes. Was I now directed to go to Madrid, as if 
I were a merchant, and to find out whatsoe’er I might 
touching this matter. Was I not to go to England’s Am- 
bassador, since might I thus have suspicion brought upon 
me of being there in interest of our King, and I would 
therefore be less like to gain the confidence of they amid 
whom I should walk. Albeit would I have rather set out 
then for Picardy than he at such spy’s work, I yet put 
good face upon the matter, and said that I would spare 
myself no efforts to learn if such a plot in truth did exist. 
When had Davids told me that I should on my return to 
England, at once come to him at his home nigh to London 
and upon the road to Cambridge, did he say that I might 
now leave the jail. And how sweet was the fresh air with- 
out, and how beautiful did the earth look in my eyes, as 
I moved along beside Parson Porter with a light step, 
rejoicing in my regained freedom, and for the same thank- 
ing God. 


XXVIII. 


IN OLD MADRID. 

From Porter had I a sum sufficient for my needs upon 
this journey, since was I to pay my own way in the per- 
formance of this duty. And in truth had the King, 
through no great fault of his own, more of honors than of 
gold to bestow upon such as served him in faithful way. 
Went I at once unto the farrier, with whom had I left the 
nag to shoe upon the day of great misfortune. When he 
perceived me, was there much of wonder in his look; and 
learned I that the poor beast had died of hunger while 
awaiting my return. Did I now make to him payment for 
his work of nigh to eight years gone by; and as well I 
asked of him if he could direct me to one from whom 
might I hire a horse to take me forthwith to Portsmouth. 
Then he made known to me a trader of horses named 
Brown, who was about to set out for Portsmouth with 
two cobs. And did I bargain for a ride upon the back of 
one of these. I now took leave of Parson Porter, thanking 
him much for his interest in my behalf, and as well for 
his faithful stewardship of my estates. These had he 
assured me were in fair condition; and as well did he now 
with beaming eyes tell me of the goodly sum of my own 
monies which kept he in a new strong-box at Merton Hall, 
where slept he of nights that he might the better watch 
the same. Upon the journey to Portsmouth had my com- 

325 


326 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


panion Brown much to say touching horses which he 
loved, and persons whom he hated. Yet was I so taken 
up with the charm of freedom, and with the sweet hope of 
seeing Constance ere many weeks should pass by, that I 
gave small heed to what the fellow were saying to me. 

Found I at Portsmouth, on my arrival there that same 
day, a ship that were taking on board merchandise for 
Bordeaux, and which were like to set sail within four and 
twenty hours. Did I bargain with the master of the same 
to give me passage with him. Then went I to an inn 
where I lay that night. In the morn went I to a tailor, 
and made of him purchase of some garments of the 
fashion of that day. When it were an hour past the noon 
I went on hoard the ship, which was named the Sea Witch. 
It were not until the second day that the winds favored 
our departure. Did the Sea Witch make the voyage 
quickly, and meeting with no mishap. At the ancient 
port of Bordeaux was I forced to tarry not more than 
three hours ere I found a ship hound for Cadiz. Did this 
same craft bring to my mind the old tutor whom I had 
loved, since was its name the Don J ose. 

Were we becalmed in the Bay of Biscay for five days; 
yet thereafter the ship lost one of her masts in a strong 
wind which came upon her of a sudden. Still, sailed the 
Don Jose with sound hull into the port of Cadiz, where 
made I landing with the hope that I would soon bring to 
end the business that had took me into Spain. For after 
having made show of my patience in prison for nigh to 
eight years, did I now find myself grown of a sudden one 
of the most impatient of mortals. 

Made I purchase of a sleek, fat mule, with which set I 
out for Madrid. As I Journeyed on did I find myself more 


IN OLD MADRID. 


327 


than once fancying the poor mad Knight, Don Quixote, 
and his esquire Sancho, as riding along the same road 
which was I now upon. Was I much struck by the dark- 
ness of the faces of many whom I passed; and did I deem 
such persons to be the children in the third or fourth 
generation of the Moors who had tarried in the land and 
embraced the Christian faith, when were so many of their 
people driven forth from Spain. Were the inns for the 
most part well kept. And in the pleasant nights would I 
long walk within my chamber, and listen to the songs of 
love which came from lips of they who sat at their wine 
below. And would the same notes bear me in fancy into 
distant Picardy. Saw I upon the hillsides many flocks 
of sheep and herds of cattle. Likewise were people pick- 
ing grapes in countless vineyards. 

Ten days after I had set out from Cadiz, and to be exact 
on the eighteenth day of the month of September, rode 
I with many others into the great city of Madrid. Here 
saw I on every hand evidence of the vast wealth which' 
was coming to Spain from her possessions in the Hew 
World. Yet did it then seem to me that the great treas- 
ures, pouring in with so much of ease, were in the end 
like to spread corruption and sloth. 

Found I lodgings at an inn named after the great Dame 
Fortune. Then for the space of one month, went I forth 
both day and night and intently listened, while did I seem 
as wishing to make sales of English merchandise, the which 
might soon be brought to Madrid. And as well I asked 
much touching the prices of flne wools. Yet put I such 
high prices upon my pretended merchandise that I got no 
promises of bargains. Not could I And wools nigh to as 
cheap as I would seem to wish for. Unto such persons as 


328 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


I had heard railing loud gainst England and her ruler, 
went I in confiding way and told each how had I been 
held for nigh eight years in an English prison for naught 
that should merit such. Yet from no one could I draw 
any hint at the conspiracy which Master Davids had 
named to me. In truth did I now find the Spanish people 
in peaceful frame of mind, under the more gentle rule of 
Philip Third, who had placed himself under the wise 
guidance of the great Duke of Lerma. Have I since come 
to the belief that King James had no hand in the sending 
of me upon this needless chase after assassins, who lived 
only in the imaginings of some few oYrwrought minds. 
The mere rumor might have come to the ears of Counsel 
Davids, when he were about to put an end to the indict- 
ment which had so long hung o’er me. And he, thinking 
to win favor with the King by gaining knowledge of the 
conspiracy, if such in truth did exist, might have put me 
to all this trouble and expense for his own benefit. And if 
this be true, do I for such bear to his memory naught of 
ill-will, by reason of a certain thing which came about at 
the end of my month’s sojourn in Madrid. 

One even at a tavern chanced I to meet one Hernando 
Bias, whom I found to be a great hater of the English, 
and who told me that he had known Guy Fawkes, whom 
did he deem to be of blessed memory. Then in a way of 
mystery he bid me come to him upon the morrow at some 
three hours past the noon. Thinking that here might I 
at last have come upon some trace of the strange con- 
spiracy, did I assure him that I would be with him. 
Named he a certain house, which had I passed, and told 
me to ask for him there. And the next day at the hour 
fixed, I knocked upon the door of that certain house. 


IN OLD AfADRID. 


329 


When came a serving maid to answer, asked I of her where 
I should find Bias. Was I hid by her to go up two fiights 
of stairs, and to knock upon the second door. When had I 
ascended the two fiights I perceived a second door toward 
the front of the house. And was there toward the rear of 
the house as well a second door. As I remembered Bias 
to be attired in shabby garments, did I think I were like 
to find him at the rear part, rather than the front of this 
house, which in truth showed upon the inside as well as 
without, signs of decay. So went I toward the rear and 
knocked upon the second door. Came there a firm yet 
pleasing voice bidding me to enter. When had I opened 
wide the door, did I perceive a room most neat, yet plainly 
fitted up. Nigh to a window stood a gentleman whom I 
took to be about sixty years of age. Was he dressed in 
faded garments, and wore a patch over one eye. Yet in 
his other eye shone there a light which bespoke a great 
intellect. Aside from the disfigurement of the patch did 
I deem the face a handsome and a striking one. And was 
there about the man a dignity which became him well, 
albeit looked the same somewhat strange amid such sur- 
roundings. While did I explain to him how I had come 
by a mischance into his room, whereas was I looking for 
Don Hernando Bias, who no doubt lodged on the same 
floor toward the front of the house, was the glance of his 
one eye full upon myself, as if he were well weighing me. 
Then did he, in most courteous fashion, say : 

^^Wilt thou no doubt find this same person within the 
second door upon the other side of yonder stair-case. 
Lodges some one there, albeit I had not known his name.” 

And now when had I thanked him for his guidance and 
withdrew, did I note that the stranger had about him a 


330 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


martial air, as if he had seen battle-fields. As well I per- 
ceived a certain pinched look that led me to this thought : 

^^Mayhap yonder most striking person doth suffer even 
now from hunger. Yet would I not have dared to offer 
him a coin.” 

When knocked I at the second door beyond the stair- 
case^ was I admitted by Bias, who after greeting me, did 
in a mysterious fashion produce two well-worn letters and 
a small painting. Were these two letters said by him to 
have been writ by Guy Fawkes. Were both brief and 
asking for the loan of a certain sum of money. Were 
these sent, not to Bias, but unto two others, whose names 
can I not now repeat. And did my man tell me that he 
believed Guy received not the certain monies for the which 
had he asked. The small painting was a portrait of 
Fawkes, which had Bias himself made from memory. And 
to my eyes the gunpowder man looked to be a most dark 
and determined fellow. When asked I of Bias if he had 
ever had it in his mind to follow in some bloody way the 
example of the departed Fawkes, did he shake much his 
head, and say that in truth such great honors were not 
for him. Then went he on for some time to laud high 
his hero, while I with much of patience harkened to his 
words. At last found I the chance to ask of him who 
might be the stranger who lodged upon the same fioor, 
and whose room had I entered in mistake for his own. 
Made he answer : 

^^Oh, him of the one-eye! Doth he call himself, so am 
I told, Don Miguel de Cervantes. Did he once write a book 
about some crazy Knight — his name can I not remember 
— who went about with a dull ass of an esquire called 
Sanchc Panza. Made the book some noise, yet doth the 


IN OLD MADRID, 


331 


fellow live still in poverty. But not so with our great 
Lope de Vega, who writes his plays by the thousand. 
Why, will this same man write one from the start unto 
finish in a single day. Oh, thou shouldst see enacted one 
of his great plays !” 

^^Have I seen one of de Vega’s plays,” I now said. And 
had I in truth beheld such while busy at my work of 
spying for Counsel Davids. 

^^And wast thou not greatly pleased with that same 
play ?” did he then demand. 

^^In truth,” made I reply, ‘Vere it not so bad for the 
work of four-and-twenty hours.” 

And now did I sound the praises of his neighbor’s great 
book, telling him how had the same much lightened my 
hours in the prison. Yet could I not get this fellow to 
talk of aught save Lope de Vega and his countless plays, 
save at such times when would he again relate to me 
memories of Guy Fawkes. Eight glad was I when seemed 
at last his tongue to tire; and then upon pretext of press- 
ing business, I took leave of him. 

That same even were' I minded to take my supper at 
a certain tavern, where were both the food and wine much 
to my liking. When was I seated, with a fat roasted 
capon before me, and as well a fiask of red wine, saw I to 
come within the room none other than Cervantes. Was 
there now about his eye a hungry look ; yet did I hear him 
call for naught save one small loaf and a cup of cheap 
wine. Now made I bold to rise and go unto the great 
writer, who seemed to recall having seen me, and whom 
I in way of much respect begged to join me at my supper. 
Looked he at myself in a cold manner, as if he were 
loathe to thus honor me. Then I told him that I had 


332 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


read at least a dozen times over the adventures of Don 
Quixote, of the which would I never tire. Did he now 
look at me with more of favor. But when I related how 
his hook had proved a blessing to me while I were detained 
in prison for no just cause, he sprang up -and warmly- 
clasped my right hand. Then looked he at myself, his 
whole face beaming with pleasure. And in ready way he 
now consented to come and sit with me at the capon and 
the wine. With his help was the fowl brought down to 
well-picked hones. Though ate Cervantes in slow manner, 
perceived I that he did this for the appearance of it. For 
in truth when had he begun, were he half-famished. Did 
we empty this flask, and as well two more of the same 
kind. Meanwhile my guest said much, now in wise and 
serious fashion, and again in words of wit that brought 
from me much of laughter. When I told him of his 
neighbor’s great admiration for Lope de Vega and his 
writings, he gave with his shoulders one small shrug. And 
then in tone and manner which bespoke the truth that 
were his mind free from aught of envy, he said: 

‘A^et with all the hurry of their make, have the plays 
of de Vega a vast deal that doth commend them.” 

When I told him that it had been my pleasure to have 
speech with Shakespeare, did he show much of interest, 
and asked of me many questions touching our poet. AVhen 
had the third flask of good wine been emptied, went we 
forth into the streets and strolled there for about the 
space of one hour. Then Cervantes, perceiving that we 
were night to the house where he lodged, asked of me if I 
would not come and he his guest for a while. Gladly I 
consented to do this. When came we into his poor room, 
he lighted his small lamp which served hut to give the 


IN OLD MADRID. 


333 


place a most gloomy look. Then did I glance about to 
find where this true writer kept his books; but of such 
saw I few. Perceiving what I had in mind, he said : 

‘‘Thou art looking for my books. Have I neither money 
nor room for many of the same. Besides, didst thou not 
note in my history of Don Quixote that I were a student 
of men more than of books 

Did I in my mind quickly run o’er his great story, and 
I perceived the same thing which had he pointed out. 
And now came to me remembrance that as well in Shake- 
speare’s lodgings I had seen few books. Then asked I if 
we were not some day to have more of his just-minded, 
yet mad-acting Knight and the dull-witted follower. 

“Some day,” made he reply, “the power which did incite 
me to the writing of that history, will urge me to a con- 
tinuance of the same.” 

When I expressed to him my wonder that the world had 
not rewarded in fit way his labors, he smiled grimly, and 
said: 

“Yet hath not this same thing happened many times 
before? Look at Camoens of Portugal, who sang so 
grandly of the bright history of his country. Came to 
him for his lofty poem most small reward. Did he die in 
great poverty; and when some fifteen years thereafter his 
countrymen perceived at last his greatness, and were 
minded to build for him a costly monument, were it no 
easy task to find his place of burial.” 

“Why could Portugal not bestow her rewards upon 
Camoens while yet he lived ?” I exclaimed. 

“Yet, sir,” went he on, “thou shouldst mark the im- 
mortal side of this coming of tardy justice to his 
memory.” 


334 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


Then for some moments was there in his face a look, 
as if for the time had his thoughts left the past and as 
well the present and flown into the future. At length 
he arose and going to a small cupboard, he took therefrom 
a flask of wine and a glass, which he fllled for myself. 
Took I this merely to give him chance to play host, which 
did he with an ease and grace which I noted with admiring 
eyes. And now did I point out to him that since I had 
gained so much of pleasure, and as well of proflt, from his 
book, were I still greatly in his debt. So would I now fain 
discharge this same in part by placing in his hands a 
small sum of money, which might be of some service to 
him. Did I at flrst perceive his eye to be sharply fixed 
upon myself, but changed his look, as went I on to say : 

‘^Canst thou hold this money in trust until the day 
when the world shall give thee such rewards as are meet. 
Then canst thou bestow it on one, who may then have 
need of the same.” 

‘‘For such an one,” said he now, “will I consent to hold 
thy gift.” 

Whereat pressed I upon him the largest coins of gold 
which chanced I then to have within my purse. Then I 
asked of him if, in the continuance of the adventures of 
Don Quixote, Sancho Panza were like to get the island he 
were ever looking for. Did Cervantes smile, and make 
reply: 

“Shall he get for a time what he thinks to be his island; 
and will he not govern the same in such bad fashion.” 

Then I make bold to ask of him if Sancho’s master 
would be at his elbow in the governing. Did he answer : 

“Will Don Quixote counsel him, ere he leaves to take 
his government, in this way: — 


i 


m OLD MADRID. 


335 


Then did my host repeat to me in substance that sub- 
lime charge which, in the Second Book of the Adventures, 
the warm-hearted Knight delivered unto his esquire, when 
went forth this one to assume his power and honors. And 
while he spoke his lofty words, did the eye of great Cer- 
vantes glow from thoughts true, noble and magnanimous. 
When had he at length come to end of this, he sat with 
a far-off look upon his face. Fearing that my presence 
might now prove wearying unto him, I took my leave. 
Did he bid me a good-night in most kindly tone ; and then 
in absent way took he his lamp and lit my way adown the 
stairs. When last I saw his face in the dim light, seemed 
he lost in his own deep meditations. 

On the next day I declared that it were great waste 
of time to tarry longer at Madrid in the search for con- 
spirators, and fixed I upon the coming morn for my de- 
parture. More than once that day had I the wish to again 
have speech with Cervantes; yet did I not deem that I 
had right to thrust myself again upon him by reason of 
having made him present of a few coins. 

Kow it chanced that just before the sun-set I was 
minded to go forth and wander in the streets. And when 
at length I paused at a certain corner, I saw coming along 
a coach, toward which were the throngs on either side the 
way gazing. Waved many their hands, and cried out in 
tones of admiration. And then beheld I within the coach 
a gentleman of middle age, who bowed in pleased manner, 
now this way, and now that way. Asked I of one standing 
nigh to name to me the person in the coach. Made he 
reply: 

‘‘Dost thou not know that yonder is great Lope de 
Vegar 


336 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


As passed by the coach and the shouting crowd, my eye 
fell on one across the way, who stood and watched the 
moving sight. When looked I the more closely did I per- 
ceive this person to he none other than Cervantes, who 
himself to my mind deserved a far greater triumph at the 
hands of his own countrymen than were now being given 
unto the swift-writing Lope de Vega. And yet in the face 
of my host of yester even was there no look of envy or of 
bitterness. In the stead did he smile in amused way. 
Then giving a small shrug of shoulder, he turned and 
walked away with a firm, soldier stride. And have I never 
since had one doubt, but that the wise Cervantes then had 
within his mind the firm belief that on his tomb would be 
surely placed the fair laurel of immortality. And was he 
content. 


XXIX. 


HAPPY YEAES. 

Eaely upon the morrow I left behind me great Madrid, 
and with such speed as the mule could make, passed I 
along the pleasant roads towards Cadiz. Were the weather 
fine; and at the noon of the ninth day of this my journey 
came I to the port of Cadiz. After I had sold the mule 
for the half of its price when made I purchase of the 
beast, did I go among the ships. Here found I a craft by 
name of Isabele, which were to set sail for London, so 
soon as the winds should favor. Did I bargain with the 
master for my passage, and went on board at once. When 
I awoke upon the morrow, were we already at sea, moving 
on in rapid way with a good South gale behind the ship. 
And yet upon this voyage were we, to my displeasure, oft 
becalmed. Once came we nigh to being cast upon the 
shore. Had I asked of the master, a white-bearded Span- 
iard, to point out to me the shores of Picardy, should we 
chance to pass in sight of these. And so it came to pass 
that, caught in a wild storm from Northwest the Isabele 
had no power to resist its sweep in toward the land. And 
then, pointing to the rocks that lay within a mile of us, 
and toward which were we being driven, the master with 
a grim smile called out to me : 

Yonder, Sir Walter, are the shores of Picardy!'^ 

But soon came there a sudden shift of wind into the 
22 337 


338 


SIB WALTER OF KENT. 


East, and by God’s mercy the Isabele in quick way escaped 
her perils. On the even of the ninth day of November 
did the ship drop anchor in the Eiver Thames, and within 
sight of the Tower of London. At daybreak on the mor- 
row went I on shore, and hiring of a trader a horse, set I 
out upon the Cambridge road and came to the house of 
Davids. Found I this King’s Counsel within, and quickly 
poured into his ears all that had I seen or heard in Spain 
touching the mission upon which had he sent me thither. 
Stole there a look of disappointment into his countenance, 
when had I made it plain to him that there was naught of 
truth in the rumor of a conspiracy gainst James. For 
now might he have no chance to reveal a grave danger 
unto his Sovereign, whose favor he no doubt had much of 
longing for. But soon he assured me that the indictment 
gainst myself had been laid aside, and in truth no longer 
existed. Did he next give unto himself much of credit for 
the part which he had taken in this matter. Had I offered 
him, in way of gratitude, a sum of money great or small, 
would he no doubt have made acceptance of the same. 
Yet did I not deem myself as bounden to do this thing. 
And perceived I a look of some reproach upon his face 
when took I my leave of him. 

Next made I purchase of a good bay horse, paying for 
the same with a bill, since was my supply of money now 
exhausted. Bode I hard toward Merton Hall; and when 
had I come to my home, was I given hearty welcome by 
Porter, and by tenants old and new, and as well by my 
neighbor. Did I cause Porter to open the new strong-box 
in large way. When had I filled well my own purse, for 
use upon the journey which I had now in mind, I left a 
goodly sum to be bestowed upon the poor on the estates of 


BAPPY YEARS. 


339 


Merton, and as well within the country round about. I 
now deemed it as befitting my condition to take with me a 
serving man. Found I a fellow to my liking, by name of 
Joseph. Was he scarce one-and-twenty years of age; yet 
bald of head had he already grown. And did the knowl- 
edge of his small duties seem to weigh upon his mind. 
Had I gone so long without a servant to attend me, that 
at first I gave Joseph but few tasks. Yet for all this 
seemed his careworn look to increase. Then did I, grow- 
ing slothful, much enlarge his duties from time to time; 
and at length I noted that he wore a look which seemed 
to bespeak more cheerfulness of mind. Eode I to Dover, 
and then crossing the water passed along the roads of 
Picardy with eager thoughts, and anon most pleasant day- 
dreams. 

Was it one hour past the noon when rode we up to the 
old Ship Inn. Found I that this same was now kept by 
the son of the much-speaking host, who had been there 
eight years afore. Was the new publican as silent as had 
been his father given to talk. As he brought to me my 
dinner, I asked of him if all were well up at the chateau. 
Made he answer that he had heard of no illness, albeit for 
all his knowledge there might have been deaths and 
burials there. Had I small wish for food ; and soon rising 
from the table I dressed myself with much of care for the 
visit which had I so long looked forward to. 

When having climbed the hill and come unto the door 
of the stone chateau, I knocked thereat with beating 
heart. Appeared a tall serving-man in answer to my sum- 
mons ; and had he scarce opened wide the door when I per- 
ceived within the large hall the Count de Brecy. Turned 
his glance upon me, and as he seemed to perceive who I 


340 


SIR WALTER OF KENT, 


were, a pleasant look stole o’er his face. Coming quickly 
toward me, he seized both my hands and shaking these he 
said with a warmth at which did I then much wonder; 

^^Art thou come, Sir Walter, for thy faithful Constance! 
Shalt thou have her, and with her all happiness! Have 
I as well happiness — for three short months gone by I 
myself took a young wife. And shalt thou soon look upon 
this divine creature.” 

I Did I now perceive why this man had so changed to- 
ward myself. Since had he found a new mistress for his 
chateau, was he in truth willing and ready to part with 
his niece, who was no longer of service unto him. And 
since would she he bestowed upon no one save myself, was 
he well pleased that I should now come to take her. As 
well, was there within his hands her small fortune, for 
payment of the which, as I thereafter learned, was he not 
now prepared. And so were he minded to make himself 
agreeable to me. Did I on my part warm toward de 
Brecy, for no other cause than that he no longer stood 
within my path. Had word of my coming been sent to 
Constance; but did she tarry for a while, no doubt that 
she might appear to more advantage in the matter of her 
dress. Yet when I at length beheld her, was I filled with 
admiration at her riper beauty, and her more rounded 
form. As sank she into my arms, she murmured : 

‘^Did I not tell thee, dear Walter, how I would wait?” 

And yet vowed I then that there should be no more 
waiting. Asked she for one short month; yet did I allow 
her the respite of but four-and-twenty hours, though her 
new sister, the Countess de Brecy, a woman of comely face 
yet artful look, made pretence of pleading for her. And 
were we upon the next day made man and wife by a sad- 
eyed young Parson of the faith of the Huguenots. Him 


HAPPY TEARS. 


341 


deemed I as too good a man to covet her whom I perceived 
he had loved as truly as had I myself. Then passed we 
forth from the halls of the de Brecys, Constance with a 
radiant smile upon her face, and I rejoicing deeply in her 
love. 

* * Hit ^ * 

Yet were me wedded once again in Merton Church by 
Parson Porter, my love having given her consent to wor- 
ship after the manner of her English spouse. And stood 
Constance with myself and shed some tears beside the 
Good Knight’s tomb. Was she much beloved of our serv- 
ants and my tenants. Kor were there, among all the 
neighbors round about, they who spoke of her ill and 
envious words. 

Passed by full many happy years, in the which came to 
us four dear children. Is there my heir, Philip, named 
after his good grandsire; and the younger Constance, who 
doth much remind me of her mother. The next in age 
is my Walter, who hath great love for his small sister, 
Lucy, named after the mother of whom had I no remem- 
brance. 

Once did there come to us upon a visit Sir Walter of 
Surrey and his wife, who had retained the brightness of 
her eyes, albeit were there some few wrinkles upon her 
brow. Had she yet many admirers, men of family as well 
as bachelors, whom was it her pleasure still to charm. 
Perceived she my great love for Constance; and, I 
thought, having no mind to waste her enchantments, did 
Maud bestow none of these upon me. Gave she to myself 
assurance that she had ever held me as blameless of her 
brother’s death. Will I not believe one half the tales of 
that lady’s doings, which are oft told by careless tongues, 
^nd of those which I do believe in part, have many been 


342 


SIR WALTER OF KENT. 


twisted in most gross and unreasoning way. Hath Sir 
Walter of Surrey been made by King James a Baronet; 
and might I myself have been as well named one of the 
new order. Yet am I not minded to become a small 
Baron, being full content to remain a Knight, as were 
before me my true and valiant sires. When am I gone, 
will no doubt my Philip ask of Charles to be made 
Baronet. 

Have I much of the time played tutor unto my chil- 
dren. And do they all speak the Spanish and the French 
as well, though were they for a while much given to the 
mixing up of the three tongues. But at last did I prevail 
upon them to write and speak only in one language at a 
time. Have my two hoys gone twice upon a visit to Squire 
Richard Peasley of Perling Manor, whom they have much 
of fondness for. Do they say he hath become a great 
reader of hooks, and that he tells to them and to his three 
sons many tales of history. 

Hath it seemed strange to me that the two great writers 
whom was it my good fortune to chance upon, should 
both pass to their reward upon the same day. Read my 
children the writings of these wise men with much of 
zest, and asking of me many questions concerning them. 
Do I recall Shakespeare as the greater genius; still do I 
remember Miguel Cervantes as the greater hero. And in 
truth hath the heroic ever appealed most strongly unto 
me. Though had he not, like to Shakespeare, fair rec- 
ompense for his great labor, yet did Cervantes ever face 
misfortune with a manly scorn. 

Am I now much disquieted touching the welfare of my 
country; since hath Charles, upon the one hand, shown 
too strong a will to uphold at any cost that which he doth 
deem the right and duty of the Kingly office. And yet 


HAPPY YEARS. 


343 


upon the other hand, the freedom-loving leaders of they 
who put not their trust in him seek to hedge about his 
Majesty with difficulties, the which do much hamper him 
in the doing of his bounden duty. And doth each side, 
with some little truth, make accusation gainst the other 
of a lack of real sincerity. When comes the storm, do I 
pray God that its fury may last but for a little while. 

Doth my heir Philip declare himself as loving much the 
King, and having desire to be of service unto him. Is he 
opposed by young Sir Wilton Thorne, who comes oft to 
Merton, and fences well gainst my son with foils, and 
likewise with many words. Yet when is my elder daugh- 
ter within the room will Sir Wilton ever keep his eyes 
upon her. And doth she to my mind seem to find some 
small pleasure in the knowledge that she has aroused his 
admiration. To these matters pays my Walter small heed, 
since is he ever talking of the colonies in the New World. 
And is it his fondest hope that he shall one day set sail 
for Virginia. 

And now do I put by the pen, and close this small his- 
tory, which shall I read to Constance, as we sit together 
in the ripe autumn of our lives. 


( 



By the Same Aathor 


Gypsying Beyond the Sea. 

FROM ENGLISH FIELDS TO SALERNO’S SHORES. 

BT 

WILLIAM BEMENT LENT. 

With 18 full-page Illastrailoas, 

Two Volumes. I6mo. Ornamental Cloth, A Set, $3.00. 


“ Two pleasant volumes of travels under the alluring title ‘Gypsying 
Beyond the Sea.* Mr. Lent made a leisurely tour of the British Isles 
and the Continent, and the notes of his journeyings, if not especially 
new, are interesting. Finland, however, is a little visited comer of 
Europe, and there Mr. Lent’s letters treat of new matter, and are 
instractive as well as interesting. The books are illustrated by 
photographs.”— A’. Y, Sun. 

** Mr. William Bement Lent, another American tourist, has given 
ns in two volumes a light running account of his sights and impres- 
sions in England, Wales, Scotland, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, 
Holland, Italy, Russia, Finland, Denmark and Sweden. His graceful 
and picturesque style seems to indicate a genuine enjoyment of his 
travels, with especial appetite for scenery and for architectural and 
other historical attractions. There are a considerable number of full- 
page illustrations .” — Review of Reviews. 

‘‘If people will continue to write books on the familiar * European 
round* they must at least make them exceptionally attractive with 
print, cover and illustration. Mr. William Bement Lent has done this 
with his two pretty, almost elegant, volumes entitled ‘Gypsying Beyond 
Che Sea from English Fields to Salerno’s Shores.* Mr. Lent has written 
for all readers and all seasons, and takes us over the conventional 
tourist’s path through England, Wales, and Scotland: across Belgium, 
which he calls ‘ the cock pit of Europe,’ into Holland, Germany and 
Switzerland; and thence, in the second volume, into Russia, Finland, 
Denmark, Sweden, and Italy. To England, Russia, Switzerland, and 
Italy he devotes his chief attention. The charm of the books is in their 
delicate binding of green and gold and in the exceedingly good process 

E lates which acconmany the text, founded on photographs but 
lending the best effects of etching and mezzotint. One who has 
not read much European travel woiud find a good deal in Mr. Lent’s 
books to please.”— World. 


BONNELL, SILVER & CO., 

Late with A. D. F. Randolph & Co., 

24 West 22d Street, New York. 


Across the Country of the 
Little King. 

A TRIP THROUGH SPAIN. 

BY 

WILLIAM BEMENT LENT. 

Author of “ Gypsying Beyond the Sea.” 

Illustrated Small 12mo, $1.25. 


The eyes and thoughts of many a European tourist have often 
turned longingly toward Spain, but the inconvenience, discomfort and 
fatigue attending, until within a few years, travel in that comparatively 
unknown country, have dampened enthusiasm and discouraged effort. 
But the opening of railways and the Mediterranean service of tue 
North German Lloyd Co. to Gibraltar, have made it possible to pass 
through central Spain, see much of the country, the most important of 
its historical cities and its principal gems of architectural and pictorial 
art, in perfect comfort. The literature upon the subject is voluminous 
and bulky. Even the Guide Books of O’Shea and Murray, while in- 
valuable, are confusing and bewildering to the passing tourists. For 
this reason, it has been thought a kindly service, to prepare this liitle 
record of a trip from Gibraltar to San Sebastian, not as a guide, but as 
a ” CO mpagnon de voyage.” One may follow through its leading and 
be sure of a delightful and profitable trip. It is the impression given 
in May and June, when all Nature was at her best, and consequently 
it differs much from Hare and other writers who tell of the desolation 
of winter. Gibraltar, Tangier, Ronda, Grenada, Seville. Cordova, 
Aranjuez, Toledo, Madrid, Escorial. Salumanca, Burgos and San Sebas- 
tian are all portrayed with vivid and enthusiastic touch. Characteristic 
fetes, architectural wonders and the marvellous canvasses of Murillo, 
Velosques and other Masters, are in a pleasant gossipy way, noted. The 
book has not been designed as a contribution to the historical, geographi- 
cal or political lore of this chivalrous and romantic country, but rather 
to unfold, much as one would do in a familiar correspondence, some- 
thing of the pleasure given, the benefit conferred, by the salient features 
of a most picturesque district and interesting people. The next best 
thing to seeing a country oneself, is to view it through the eyes of one 
who has passed observingly through it, with the determination, as 
expressed on the old sun-dial, to “‘‘mark only the hours which shine." 
In these pleasing pages, many may find entertainment and information 
and perchance as a sequence, will be inspired to go and do likewise. 


BONNELL, SILVER & CO., 

Late with A. D. F. Randolph & Co., 

24 West 22cl Street, New York. 


The Angel of the Tenement. 

BY 

GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN. 

Cloth. 16mo. 7^ Cents. 


The Angel of the Tenement purports' to be, and is, 
in conception and style, a story for children, but it is 
also a story, which like Jacknapes, and The Bird’s 
Christmas Carol, or Captain January is meant for the 
adult reader as well. And while The Angel and the 
small Major, will, doubtless, appeal most to the juvenile 
reader, the airy buoyancy of Miss Norma Boukowsky 
the chorus-singer of doubtful age, and the pessimistic 
utterances of one ’Yildy Peggins concerning the 
efficacy of Kindergarten methods, will appeal to the 
humor of the maturer reader. 

‘ ‘ I think it a very pretty little story, and very well 
written. I can fancy that there will be very many who 
will be interested in the pages, and who will rejoice to 
know that Angel came to her own again. ‘ Major ’ is 
especially a character, and the pathos of the story is his 
few days in the hospital.” Eliza Dean Taylor, 

Author of The Cup of Loving Service f 

The little three-year-old who poses as “The Angel 
of the Tenement ” developes into an altogether delight- 
ful personality in George Madden Martin’s story for 
children, just published by Bonnell, Silver & Co., New 
York. The time-honored beautiful principle that “A 
little child shall lead them” was never more whole- 
somely put between book covers. The glimpses of a 
child’s power for good in a life among “The Other 
Half” afford a lesson for grown people, as well as 
children; and the blended pathos and humor of the 
recital is most artistic. It is one of the books to set 
people thinking along a right line, and as such should 
be extensively circulated . — Boston Daily Globe. 

“ The Angel of the Tenement.” By George Madden 
Martin. The story is that of a lost child who brings 
sunshine into many lives amid the sordid surroundings 
of a crowded tenement. The plot— if it may be called 
such — is simple and natural, the incidents are pleasing, 
the action spirited and pathos and humor intermingle. 
While it is intended as a story for children, it will 
interest the adult reader as well. — 7 he Troy Daily 
Times. 


BONNELL, SILVER & CO.. 

Late with A. D. F. Randolph & Co., 

24 West 22d Street, New York, 


The Sacrifice of a Throne. 

BEING AN ACCOUNT OP THE LIFE OP AMADEUS, 
DUKE OP AOSTA, SOMETIME KING OF SPAIN. 

BT 

H. REMSEN WHITEHOUSE 

Formerly attached to United Staiee Legation at Madrid; Late Secretary 
(tf Legation and Coneul General to Central America; Secretary of 
Legation to Mexico; Secretaryof the Pan-American Cor^erence 
and recently Secretary of united States Embassy to Italy. 

With fulhpage Illustratioas of the Royal Pamlty la Platiaotype. 
Oat Voluaie. I2aio. Cloth, $1.50, 


“The Sacrifice of a Throne,” is the title not inappropriately selected 
tjy Mr. Whitehouse, for his description of one of the most romantic and 
curious episodes in contemporaneous history. Step by step the reader 
accompanies the hero of this historical sketch, prepared from materials 
not within the reach of the general public ; from the hour of his birth, as a 
member of one of the most ancient reigning Houses of Europe, to his 
acceptance and renunciation of one of the most glorious Crowns of 
Christendom. Brieflyoutlining the events which led np to the unifi- 
cation of Italy, the writer points out their influence in the formation oi 
the character of the Italian Prince, and their bearing on the political and 
Bocial trials which made a further tenancy of the Spanish Throns 
anomalous. 

The description of the first Cuban rebellion; the attempted emanci- 
pation of the slaves; and the proposed political and municipal reforms, 
oelp to a better understanding of the social condition of that unhappy 
Island; while the glimpse of the complicated phases of Spanish parlia- 
mentary under currents of a quarter of a century ago, assists to a clearer 
appreciation of the difllculties encountered by the government of the 
Peninsula in the present crisis- similar in many respects to that con- 
fronted during the reign of Amadeus. 

In this connection the publication of Mr. Whitehouse’s book is 
particularly opportune, occurring as it does at a moment when public 
Interest is engrossed by current events in the Antilles. 

The character of Amadeus is carefully studied, and is free from 
tindue prejudice. 

Admiration for such qualities as pluck and consistency— attributes 
which appeal forcibly to the Anglo Saxon soul— is not stinted and Mr. 
Whitehouse gives ample demonstration of the posession of the moral 
and physical variations of these virtues by the young monarch, as 
evinced by his public and private acts. 

Putting aside the purely historical element and diplomatic criticism, 
snfllcient romantic and dramatic episode will be found in the private 
life of the hero to furnish material for the plots of a score of popular 
novels. 

The illustrations, of which there are five, are artistically reproduced, 
and add considerably to the general interest of the work. 


BONNELL, SILVER & CO., 

Late with A. D. F. Randolph & Co., 

24 West 22d Street, New York, 


A Summer Journey 
to Brazil 

by 

ALICE R. HUMPHREY 

With 1 8 Full-Page Illustrations 
Cloth. i2mo. $1.25 

“A Summer Journey to Brazil,” by Alice R. Humphrey. 
Illustrated, izmo. Bonnell, Silver & Co. 

The youngest of our sister republics in the American 
continent is a ''terra incognita” to us. In fact, we know 
less of the country, its people, and conditions, than we do of 
China, the South African Republic, or Bulgaria. This little 
volume does not claim to be an exhaustive hand-book. It is 
merely the record of the observations and investigations 
made, in the course of a summer journey, by a woman c ' 
wide interests. — The New York Mail and Excrete, 

Alice R. Humphrey converses pleasantly concerning "A 
Summer Journey to Brazil.” (Bonnell, Silver & Co., New 
York.) Eighteen full-page illustrations add to the attractive- 
ness of a volume that conveys a luxurious sense of the lazy 
life on board an English steamer in tropic seas, and ■ opens 
up an easily accessible field of travel for Americans. Mer- 
chants and people interested in missionary enterprises are also 
likely to derive information from the book. — The Philadelphia 
Press, 

Published by 

BONNELL, SILVER & COMPANY 
24 West 22d Street, New York 


The Fairy Dream 

by 

KATHARINE D. LAWRENCE 

with 

Illustrations, frontispiece illustrated 
by Charles W. Pancoast. 

1 6 mo. 140 pages. $.60 net. 

A unique and beautiful conception, beautifully 
carried out. Portraying the character of a 
generous - hearted little girl, who, though the 
spoilt and only child of a wealthy widower, has 
the nobility of her nature so aroused by the revela- 
tions of “The Fairy Dream” as to influence her 
whole life, and make beautiful that of another 
child less fortunate than herself in birth and cir- 
cumstances. Written for the young, it is still 
full of beauty and interest to older readers. A 
story which will live in the minds of all who 
read it. 


For Sale by all Booksellers or sent postpaid on 
receipt of price. 


BONNELL, SILVER & COMPANY 

24 West 22d Street, New York. 


The Livingstons at 
Squirrel Hill 

by 

LOUISE STONE WRAY 


12 mo. 300 pages. Price $1.25 


It has been said that “ Probably more depends on the 
sort of things a growing mind takes for its daily diet than on 
the nature of the food with which the body is fed.” 

There is little doubt that a great mass of the very cheap 
accessible literature of the day is utterly urprofitable^ if not 
noxious in a positive sense But w'hen one makes this assertion 
and deplores the sort of printed matter that one sees in the 
hands of young, and indeed of older people, in trains, restaur- 
ants, etc., he is generally met with the reply, which would in 
itself have some force if it were demonstrably true that the 
people who read this class of literature nowadays read noth- 
ing at all fifty years ago. Miss Wray has written ” The 
Livingstons at Squirrel Hill ” with this idea uppermost in her 
mind, of placing in the hands of young people a simple story 
of everyday life in a country home : pure, wholesome, amus- 
ing and instructive. 

Rarely does one find such a charming combination of wit 
and tenderness for the things that matter, as is concealed 
within the covers of ” The Livingstons at Squirrel Hill.” 


For Sale by all < Booksellers or sent post-paid by 
the publishers on receipt of price, $1.25. 

BONNELL, SILVER & COMPANY 

24 West 22d Street, New York. 


]CL 17 19^32 

1 COPY on toc/»t r^v. 

JUL, U 1902 

The Development 
of Painting 

in the Sixteenth Century 
by 

Mrs. a. B. STONE 

Twenty-seven Full-Page Illustrations 
Frontispiece by Walter Satterlee 

PRICE, $1.50 

One of the attractive books of 1902, is the 
Development of Painting in the i6th Century, 
written by Mrs. A. B. Stone, and twenty-seven 
full -page illustrations by Mr. Walter Satterlee. 
In a review of the book by the well known art 
writer, Charles Henry Hart, he says : “ This rapid 
survey of the progress of art to the time of 
Raphael is a skillfully wrought compendium, in 
which Mrs. Stone has preserved all the essentials 
to a proper understanding of the subject while 
condensing with the severity necessary to get a 
large story into a little volume. It is grace- 
fully and interestingly written.” 

Published by 

BONNELL, SILVER & COMPANY 
24 West 22d Street, New York 


I B S '07 



THE SACRinCE OF A THRONE. By H. Remsen 
Whitehousc. A Powerful Story. Illustrated. $1.50 


THE LIVINGSTONS AT SQUIRREL HILL. By 
Louise Sloane Wray. A Wholesome Book for Boys 
and Girls. Cloth, - - • $1.25 


THE FAIRY DREAM; By Katharine D. Lawrence. 
A Second “Patsy,” for Young and Old, Illustrated, 60c. 


ACROSS THE COUNTRY OF THE LITTLE KING. 
By William Bement Lent. A Trip Through Spain. 
Fully Illustrated, - - - . $1.25 


THE CALUNG OF THE APOSTLE By Zephin* 
Humphrey. Delightful Stories for Children. Cloth, 75. 


SUMMER JOURNEY TO BRAZIL. By Alice. R. 
HUMPHREY. Read about the Great Coffee Country. 
Illustrated, .... $j.25 


THE COLLAPSE OF THE KINGDOM OF NAPLES;^ 
By H. Remsen Whitehouse. Illustrated, Cloth, $1.50 









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